


Kuroshitsuji: Book of Cipher

by ThatMysteryWriter



Category: Kuroshitsuji (2014), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Related, Codes & Ciphers, F/F, F/M, Female Ciel Phantomhive, Gen, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, M/M, Mystery, POV Ciel Phantomhive, POV Sebastian, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Riddles, Science, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Story Arc, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6246226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMysteryWriter/pseuds/ThatMysteryWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Sebastian, the flower in your hand is a Dentelaire du Cap, of the rare variety known as Bleu Ciel. From that matters stand clear. Someone is challenging me to a game.”</em>
</p><p>  <em>      “Then what do you intend to do about it?” he whispered.</em> </p><p>  <em>     A Cheshire smile crept my lips. “Well, I intend to play the game, of course. Until I hear the word—checkmate.”</em></p><p>When girls from Lizzie's academy begin vanishing without a trace, the Queen's guard dog delves into the case with Sebastian. There, the duo find strange ciphers left at the scenes of the disappearances. However, it soon becomes clear this is no ordinary kidnapping scheme when Sebastian uncovers a clue from Cielle's past. To complicate matters, as the pair investigates in tandem, the essence of Cielle's soul begins to change. A change that, for the first time ever, tests Sebastian's impeccable aesthetics—and restraint.<em></em><br/><em></em><br/><strong>PODFIC</strong> <a href="https://soundcloud.com/user-614162143/chapter-1-the-game-is-afoot">Here </a> ^^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game is Afoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on a mystery novel last year and realized the plot fit really well with the KuroS universe so I figured, why not make a fanfic out of it? I tweaked the plot, modified the characterization until I had a plot that felt very true to Kuroshitsuji. ^^
> 
> (special thanks to Sammi Bold for the podfics!)

 

Ch 1: The Game is Afoot 

* * *

  __

{Cielle's POV} 

     I imagine decent, upstanding aristocrats hailing from nobility circles would seldom find themselves in such compromising states—bent over and down on their knees, crawling among the shadows like some marauder. But I, being the Queen's guard dog, welcomed these singular predicaments. 

     Shifting my eye-patch under the counter, I held up the anonymous telegram wired to Scotland Yard, the cryptic words lit by a sliver of moonlight. 

_'NRWMRTSG YFITOZIB. QVDVO SLFHV. GLDVI LU OLMWLM'_

     Given the Yard's usual state of incompetence, it hardly came as a surprise those bunglers had failed to decipher so simple a message. It wasn't particularly difficult to see the words formed a simple substitution cipher of reversed alphabets: A’s replaced Z’s, B’s replaced Y’s, C’s with X’s, and so forth. The decoded message bluntly stated:

                         _'MIDNIGHT BURGLARY. JEWEL HOUSE. TOWER OF LONDON'_

     A small part of the Tower of London, the Jewel House where the Queen housed the Crown Jewels. Though the warning telegram had been wired to Scotland Yard, as Queen's loyal guard dog, this task fell in my jurisdiction. Tonight I'd catch the swindling culprit who'd dare trifle with Her Majesty—and consequently _me._

     The showroom clock began striking the hour. I stuffed the slip into my frock-coat and flattened myself against the woodwork. My pulse sped up with each chime. After the twelfth sounded, a heavy silence hovered in the air. I waited and waited, the seconds passing by at a glacial pace. Then I heard it. A tight knot formed in my chest as the windowsill’s rusted hinges screeched in the darkness. Given the undersized windows of the showroom, I suppose it was small comfort to know some rat-like man had just clambered in instead of a beast.

     Light scuffs on the floorboards proceeded without an inkling of hesitation. The rogue flitted past Her Majesty's royal regalia, past the sceptres, imperial state crowns, and other priceless items that stood hundreds of years of monarchy.    

                                                                                                                                                                            

Then he stopped, as if he finally found what he came here for. A hand over my revolver, I rose slightly from my hiding place and blinked. The silhouette in front of me hardly belonged to a man at all but rather a woman—that too, one I recognized. 

_Irene Diaz . . . ?_

     The opera singer I had invited to a banquet along with Mr. Wordsmith.  _What the deuce was she doing here?_

     I narrowed my vision. With her back to me, Irene hovered over a nearby counter, her long, blonde hair spilling over a glass display. Through her curtained hair, I caught her hand fishing a delicate artifact out of its confines.

     The Queen's diadem.

     "I'd advise you to stop right there, Miss Diaz.” I kept my voice soft as I sprang from the counter. “If you don't, I’m afraid you’ll be in for quite a vamp.”

     At the sound of my voice, the woman tilted her head in a cataleptic manner. Like a mesmerized puppet, her dull, glassy eyes locked with mine, and a vacant smile crept her lips. A chill crawled over me. "What the deuce you think you're doing?" 

     And just like that, she completely dismissed my words and returned to her plundering. I stared at her in disbelief until a series of barks emerged in the distance. _The Scotland Yard terriers._ The moment I heard the barks, so did she. The woman's queer expression began to morph before me. Her face convulsed; her clouded eyes turned hard.

     "A . . .dog?" Irene whispered to herself. She whirled to her side, and her face blanched at my sight. "I-it's you . . . " Her trembling hands dropped the diadem with a clatter. She slowly backed away from me, her lavender irises wildly darted around the showroom—until they landed on the half-opened window. 

     "Don’t be foolish," I whispered.

     The opera singer didn't heed my words. Like a frightened deer, she bolted, her long dress swishing with every step. Just as her fingertips reached for the windowsill, I extended my foot, causing her to lose her footing and stagger backwards. Seizing my chance, I grasped the train of her dress and brought her to the floor.

    At that very moment, the two Scotland Yard officials who had stood watch outside the entrance burst through the doorway. Lord Randall Delacourt, Commissioner of Scotland Yard, swooped down on her like a hawk after a rabbit. She released a strangle cry as Inspector Abberline seized her wrists and cuffed her. Once she was detained, the Commissioner wheeled around to face me, his voice sharp as glass. “What in blazes do you think you are doing here?”

     My gaze drifted at the restive terriers that circled him before I pointedly caught his eye. “I merely came to tidy up after the lumbering dogs, Commissioner.”

     Delacourt's jaw clenched.  “You were meant to find the Yard a lead,  _not blooming follow it_.”

     "Au contraire," I replied with a demure smile. "While it is true that trivial cases like burglary fall in the Yard's jurisdiction, given that theft was attempted in the Queen's Jewel House, this falls completely in my vicinity, wouldn't you say? I daresay, it is _you_  who is infringing here."

     Delacourt pursed his mouth to retort when Irene let out a strangled plea. “U-unhand me. I’m innocent, I tell you.”

     “If we had a shilling for every time we heard that," Abberline scoffed.

     “But, it’s true, I swear to you it is the truth!”

     “Then exactly why are you here, miss?”

     “I don’t know. I-I must have been sleepwalking.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Irene stared at her mid-calve heels and her bustle gown. Her cheeks deepened in color, matching the pink silken fabric of her attire. I casted her a disbelieving look.  _Surely_  the woman could concoct a better story than that. If she was prepared to lie, she could, at the very least, make it a convincing one.

     “In day wear?” Abberline’s question dripped with the sarcasm. “State your name, miss.”

     The opera singer's lips trembled. "Irene Diaz."

     The Inspector reached for his notebook. “And how did you happen to bypass the main entrance’s security measure?”

     “I . . . don’t know," Irene whispered. She gazed at her quivering hands.

      "She entered through there." I pointed to the window in question. Irene stared at it with worrisome eyes as I strode past her. December air seeped through the crevice, submerging the room in coldness that made my breath materialize. As I tried to shut out the irksome draft, something moved in the shadows. I jolted, my hands still gripping the windowsill.  That blasted-

    “Something the matter, Lady Phantomhive?" The commissioner's eyes narrowed at me.

     “It's nothing.” I murmured. “Just some slipshod bat . . .”

      Slowly, I returned my attention to Abberline who was wrapping up with his unsuccessful line of questioning. His eyes flickered to the diadem lying on the floor. "And now perhaps you’d care to explain the most important bit of all. Why did you attempt to steal Her Majesty’s diadem in the first place, Miss Diaz?"

     Irene bit her rose stained lip though her eyes shone bright with resolve.  "I told you. I didn't steal it. I don’t know anything about the—"

    "Enough of this claptrap, Abberline.” Commissioner Delacourt stared at his watch with palpable irritation. "It’s past decent hours, and I have to be up at Imperial Academy in the morning. Proceed with the arrest. We shall resume her questioning when she is feeling more cooperative." Irene blanched.

     “Yes, sir.”

      The Commissioner grabbed the terrier’s leashes as Abberline towed Irene outside. Curtains of black clouds unveiled a quarter moon, the silvery light falling upon us. I trailed the group from a measurable distance, my eyes searching the dimly lit alley.  _Where the devil was he?_  And then the two terriers that flanked our party broke my thought. They gave a little growl, their leashes pulling taut.

     "Well, don’t just stand there, you dolt—check it,” the Commissioner ordered. “I’ll keep an eye on this one."

     Abberline grunted his assent as the terriers broke free, their feet thundering all the way to the back of the London Tower. I followed behind him. A chorus of moans intermingled with the barks. The hairs on my arm stood up. I hastened behind Abberlines’s trail until he came to an abrupt stop. In front of us sat three men, bound and gagged, their faces etched with horror. 

     Recognition filled Abberline's eyes. "Hold on just a moment, you lot are-"

     "The French smugglers the Yard failed to arrest last month," I said—emphasis on _failed._

     The men made muffled sounds through their gag. I removed one of them when the burliest man lunged at me. I careened out of the way, leaving him to cling to the Inspector's collar through his chain-bound hands. "Il avait un visage de bête comme!"

     "Pull yourself together man!" Abberline yanked his uniform free.

     The mustached man next to him whimpered. "L-lesus naturae . . . m-monstre . . . Je l'ai vu un f-f-antôme avec un visage blanc."

     "Beg your pardon?" the Inspector asked.

     "A phantom." I narrowed my eyes into the dank, shadowy alley. "They say a white-faced phantom attacked them."

      "Z-ze girl es right," the smallest of them said in a thick French accent. "It vas h-horrible."

     With a small sarcastic-laugh, Abberline replaced the thin chain around their wrists with handcuffs. "What utter poppycock."

     Commissioner Delacourt led a stricken Irene Diaz to the scene. "Heard all the commotion. Do you not have this under con—" He stuttered at the sight of the band of cowering smugglers. "Are they who I think they are?"

     "Ay," said Abberline. "I expect they were in cahoots with this young lady here, attempting to steal the diadem in another one of their smuggling operations.”

     “Is that so?” Delacourt eyed the men coldly. “How unfortunate their rendezvous ends here.” He shot Irene a disapproving look. “ _For all of them."_

     "I swear I don't know any of them," she cried. "You have to believe me! I beg of you." When she found no sympathy from the officials, she turned to me in desperation. "Please, you can vouch for me! Grimsby and I were guests at a banquet you held last year at Phantomhive manor."

     "Hold on a minute." Abberline stared at her hard. "Now that you mention it, I do recall something about that event. A few officials from the Yard were dispatched to Phantomhive estate to collect Georg Von Siemen who had been sacked most mysteriously. To date, the Yard never figured out who was responsible for that unfortunate event. If I'm not mistaken, I believe you were present when this all took place, Miss Diaz." The opera singer recoiled as though she'd been drenched with a glass of wine again.

     "What are you insinuating?" she whispered.

      I raised a hand to prevent this drivel from going further. "Are you lot really that thick-headed, or is this the typical manner you conduct your investigations?" 

     "Lady Phantomhive," Delacourt began in frosty accents, "while we are obliged to your small assistance with the earlier telegram, I must ask you to stop with this insufferable interference, and leave the rest in our capable hands."

     I balled my fist up. _Insufferable interference?_

     Abberline sighed. “Seeing as it is rather late, do you need someone to accompany you back to Phantomhive manor?”

     I spoke through grit teeth. “I am exceedingly grateful for your offer, Inspector, but my butler shall see to it instead. I left him near the corner.”

     “Very, well,” Abberline said. “In that case, we’ll take our leave.”

     "Please do."

     I watched the little party fade in the distance. Irene Diaz stared at her cuffs, her face crestfallen and perturbed. Only when they reached the corner did she chance looking over her shoulder. She held my gaze in desperation; her lips beseeched me, mouthing words so clear and unmistakable.

_Help me._

     I frowned as I returned to the showroom. Something about this simple theft was off. Pressing my fingers against the glass display, I committed the diadem to memory. Framed in silver, it was elegantly inlaid with a twelve tiny gemstones: diamond, sapphire, emerald, moonstone, amethyst, aquamarine, garnet, sardonyx, ruby, topaz, opal, and zircon. Expensive though it was, it certainly wasn’t the priciest item in the Jewel House, and Irene Diaz certainly wasn’t in any need of coin. The woman after all came from High Society and probably possessed countless of pricey trinkets herself. She had no real need to engage in this petty theft.

    _Then, why did she engage?_

      I paused, my theorizing interrupted by a silhouette that crept fluidly across the wall. Its shadow loomed behind me, growing larger on the floor until it finally engulfed my own shadow.

     I smiled to myself. "Well, you sure took your time." 

     "My apologies for the delay, young mistress." Sebastian eased in from the shadows, his sculpted features and obsidian hair spotlit by the moonlight. He dusted off his satin gloves. "I fear I had gotten a bit caught up eliminating the rats scurrying about. I trust I haven’t missed anything of importance?"

     "Not particularly. But if you must know, I caught the swindler."

     "Is that so? In that case, permit me to commend you. It is refreshing to see the young mistress being self-sufficient." His graceful tone hardly veiled his impertinent tongue.

     I gave him a biting stare. "The plunderer turned out to be Irene Diaz.”

    “The opera singer from Lyceum Theatre?” Sebastian lifted a brow. “That is a touch curious.”

     “Yes, _curious_. Though not as much as the scene that followed.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Three men, bound with restraints, bumbling like a pack of imbeciles about some horrid monster that came upon them."

     "A monster you say?" A frown marred his elegant visage. "My, that sounds rather frightful."

     "Quite so. In any case . . . " I held up the long, thin chain that had bound the men and deposited it in Sebastian's gloved hand. "I believe this belongs to you."

     Sebastian chuckled as he reattached the chain to his pocket watch. "Much obliged, young mistress."

     My lips turned up in a smile. “Come, Sebastian. Let us return to the manor. I've had enough of staying awake at this ungodly hour—”

     A deafening crash rippled through the air. I wheeled around. Panic frosted my skin. A blizzard of glass shards hurtled in midair, heading straight for me. Before I could think to shield my eyes, a band of steel encircled my waist. I grasped a fistful of a fabric as the glass showered down, its discordant tinkling filling my ears. When it finally tapered to silence, only the sound of my shallow breathing remained.

      Wisps of silky hair brushed against me. I snapped open my eyes, and my breath caught. Sebastian's face hovered above mine, his demonic eyes blazing as they bore into my own.

     "What . . . the dickens just happened?" 

     "It would appear someone has broken the showroom windows, young mistress."

    "Thank you for your scintillating input,” I snapped.

     "Pardon my simple answer for a simple question. In any case . . ." He paused, his gaze traveling across my face, then lower.  "Are you quite unhurt?"

      I might have been alright, but the weight on top of me was considerable. Little by little, I became aware of the hard form pressed against mine and to my mortification—the vise-like grip on his uniform. My shaking hands clung to his white shirt so fiercely that one of the digits had slipped into a fold between two buttons. I uncurled my fingers from the lapels of his suit at once.

     "A bit flattened,” I said quietly.

     "My deepest apologies. It slipped my mind how delicate the young mistress is." I eyed him tetchily as he rose to his full height and inspected his tattered uniform with a sigh. "Remarkable how my attire never seems to stay intact when I am in your presence for too long."

   "Surely, your clothes are used to such trifles by now." I curled my lip as he helped me to my feet and flitted past him to the broken window. Just as I began to inspect the windowsill, something fluttering on the floor caught my attention: a flower petal? Cerulean blue, velvety, and of a spring variety too rare to find during the coldest month of the year. Immediately, I pocketed it.

      "Peculiar," came a murmur. I spun around. Sebastian knelt on the littered floor, his eyes gleaming as he freed a scrap of paper underneath a glass shard.

     “And what may I ask is so peculiar?”

     “Perhaps you ought to see for yourself, young mistress.”

     He held out the scrap, and my gaze swiveled at the handwritten words in front. “That's . . . my name." I stared hard at the spot that read ' _Cielle Phantomhive.'_

     “Indeed,” whispered Sebastian. “But _that_ is hardly what makes it curious.”

     When I turned over the scrap, I understood why.

_'Dec 12 th_

_1325 205125718113. 791812 9141415351420. 2085 71135 919 16151520_

_25152118 522518 231203862112 61895144,_

_\- 7891011 12'_

     Another blasted cipher.

     I scanned the first string of numbers: 1325. If the numbers corresponded to the alphabet, 1 = A, 3 = C, 2 = B, and 5 = E. But that hardly made any sense, unless _'acbe'_   was a word in the English dictionary. I considered it again. Perhaps the cipher consisted of double digits as well. If 13 referred to 'M', and '25' referred for 'Y'. . .

 _My_.

    "Sebastian, a quill," I ordered.

     Sebastian promptly retrieved one and deposited into my unsteady hand. I began marking up the paper like a tempest, decoding word after word. In minutes, I had decoded the entire message, save the last line. My fingers dented the paper.

     "Well?” intoned Sebastian.

     “She was telling the truth,” I whispered darkly. "Someone played me, Sebastian. Look for yourself."

     Sebastian leaned in close, his fuchsia orbs flickering as he read aloud the text:

_'Dec 12th_

_My telegram. Irene innocent. The game is afoot Phantomhive._

_Your ever watchful friend,_

_-7891011 12'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The template image above is from the original manga where the faces/backdrop has been edited, recolored, and includes 4-5 motifs in there that has to do with this plot. The Ciel I chose to depict is probably closer to Shiori from the live action of Kuroshitsuji. Upcoming chapters are written from both fem Ciel/Sebastian's POV. I tend to prefer SebaCiel fanfics with a complex, interactive mystery (Basically what KuroS is at its core-right? ) with a romantic subplot. So yup, that's where this fanfic is headed.
> 
> Anywho, let me know what you guys think so far : )


	2. Carroms, Crumpets, and a Case

                                                                                              

                                                                                                                            

     "Bring in the tea service," I ordered. "Make it strong."

     “Yes, young mistress.”   

      I fixed my gaze on the carrom board. Cerulean eyes reflected across the wooden surface, glinting like chips of ice. The unsettling incidents from last night replayed in my mind: the fake warning telegram, the band of smugglers, Irene Diaz’s innocence, but most of all, that taunting cipher.

_The game is afoot, Phantomhive._

      Who the deuce could have sent it? 

     A soft giggle snapped me out of my frustration. Securing blond sprigs of hair to her chest, Lizzie leaned over the carrom board.  “I must say, your game is rather off today, Cielle.” 

      I stared at the lone coin on my side of the board, then the towering stack on hers, and murmured, “A first time for everything I suppose."

     “Might I propose a stake to motivate your spirits? If you win, I shall give you this cute little trinket.” Lizzie held up her wrist, revealing a charm bracelet dangling with a dozen precious stones. But just as quickly as she brought it up, she lowered it. Her lips parted in a playful smile. “However…if I am the victor, you have to accompany me tomorrow to a dress fitting for the academy's masquerade ball.”

     “You know those sort of outings aren’t my cup of tea, Lizzie,” I muttered. “Don’t you have other friends who'll tag along?”

     Lizzie's smile faltered.  “Well, I _was_ going to ask my friends, Arwen and Astoria instead, but oddly, neither of them showed up to the academy today. In any case…what do you say to my proposition?”

      “I say it is mighty considerate you to spring up a reward when you are already at such a vantage point in our game.”

     “Then you refuse?”

 _“Hardly,_ Elizabeth.”

      Smiling widely, Lizzie reached for the striker, when Sebastian strode through the doorway, wheeling in a trolley cart filled with sherry trifles, blackberry crumpets, scones, and, of course, the customary Twinning’s tea.

     “Today’s tea is a blend of Darjeeling, Ceylon, and Assam,” he announced before pausing. His gaze drifted to my side of the board, no doubt taking note of my abysmal score. Then his eyes flickered to the Queen in the center. “Perhaps I should return once you’ve have finished playing your games.” He caught my eye. A faint chuckle escaped him, the sound traveling along my spine as though a gloved finger had traced it.  "Young mistress..?"

      I shook myself. Forcing myself to meet his stare, I lifted my chin and made my voice stiff as possible. “That won’t be necessary.”

     With all the lesser valued coins unwittingly cleared by Lizzie, I positioned the striker in the unobstructed path of the Queen and struck hard. The striker glided across the board like a lynx slinking towards its prey. In one fluid move, our game had ended.

     The Queen was mine.

     Lizzie’s lips went agape as I reached out to collect her charm bracelet. Slipping it on my wrist, I languidly leaned back into the Queen Anne armchair as Sebastian handed me a teacup, filled to its brim. I inhaled the muscatel scent, humming. 

     “I see it is to your liking, my lady.” Sebastian retrieved the _Daily Telegraph_  from the bottom rack of the trolley cart. “Perhaps now would be an apt time to give you this.”

     Without another word, he dropped the newspaper on my lap. His crimson eyes held my gaze, steady and gleaming, watching me unroll the paper. With a forceful clink, the teacup clattered against the Royal Doulton china, nearly splashing tea over the rim. I sat bolt upright in my armchair.

     A startled black and white face met mine, and underneath it, in stark, bold letters –a warrant for Irene’s arrest. My eyes flitted across the front page.

_'Lyceum's very own opera singer and actress, Irene Diaz, was found amidst a band of smugglers last night. The young woman was caught in the act of thieving a diadem from Her Majesty's Jewel House in London Tower. Fortunately, the attempt was prevented in the nick of time due to the estimable efforts of Commissioner Randall Delacourt and Inspector F. Abberline of Scotland Yard.’_

     "Estimable? Tch." My fingernails dented the paper, but I pressed myself to read on.

_‘However, soon after her detainment, Diaz went missing around the early morning hours, the only key to her cell taken. The Yard believes she escaped from their custody due to mounting evidence that would sentence her to Brixton's Female Convicts Facility. A small search party has been dispatched. If anyone has any knowledge on Diaz’s whereabouts, we urge you to come forth and contact the authorities immediately.’_

      “Matters have gotten a touch more interesting, haven’t they, my lady?” Sebastian collected the paper.

     “A touch perhaps . . . Still, to think all this fuss over some petty diadem.” I frowned and reached for a scone off the cart when Lizzie made a brusque grab for it instead. She sunk into the chintz upholstered armchair and slathered a dollop of clotted cream on it, glowering at me as she assailed her pastry. 

     “Is the tea-service not your liking?” I said dully.

     “Don’t try to fool me, Cielle. You played me.” 

      “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Elizabeth.”

 _“Oh, twaddle.”_   With a bitter laugh, Lizzie sprang from her armchair with the fistful of coins I’d let her win and threw them over her shoulders onto the board.

     “Watch it—” I started but froze as one of the thick, wooden coins soared high into the air and plunged into my cup with a loud splash. I yelped, bracing myself against the scalding drops of tea to hit my face. Oddly, they never came. I cracked a lid open, and my breath stilled. Glowing orbs of fuchsia pinned my gaze.

     Sebastian tsked.  “Goodness, all this to win some inconsequential game . . .” He slowly lowered his wet, tea stained gloved hand from my chin and pursed his lips on the precipice of speech when, to my relief, a twinkling of a bell interrupted him. With a bow to the Lizzie, the butler excused himself to attend to the visitor.

     Lizzie collapsed back into her armchair, arms crossed and looked as though she wanted to wield a sabre at me. Honestly, the girl could be hypersensitive as a barometer. Still...if Aunt Francis caught wind of this, I'd receive quite the earful. I heaved a sigh.

     “Be here in the afternoon,” I said, before I could change my mind. “We’ll have the coachman take us to Nina Hopkin’s boutique. I presume that will–”

      Without warning, Lizzie flung her arms around me, toppling over me in my armchair. “Oh, Cielle! I knew deep down you couldn’t refuse me.”

     “Let . . . me go . . . now . . . Elizabeth,” I said through her chokehold. 

     A rap sounded the door, and Sebastian flitted past the doorway, somewhat briskly. "Young mistress," he ejaculated. "You have a—" He paused upon noticing my awkward position. “Please pardon my intrusion.”

     Lizzie released me with a giggle. I sat upright in my armchair, my cheeks aflame at his ill-concealed amusement. “What do you want, Sebastian?”

      “I simply came to inform you that you have company.” His tone conveyed this was no ordinary visitor.

     “Who?” I said sharply.

     “Lord Randall Delacourt—Commissioner from Scotland Yard. And . . . a guest.”

     I stared hard at the closed door.  _What was that glock doing here?_  “In that case, please see Elizabeth out, and prepare some tea service. I will be downstairs momentarily.”

     “As you wish.”

     Concern knitted Lizzie’s eyebrows, but she reluctantly took her leave. Then, gathering all the enthusiasm I could muster, I clambered downstairs. Forcing a pleasant face, I threw open the parlor curtains to find not one, but two gentlemen seated under the chandelier.  “Commissioner, how delightful to see you twice in one day.”

     My words were not lost on him. Commissoner Delacourt rose from the sofa and contorted his face into a pained smile. “My sentiments as well, Lady Phantomhive.” 

      I sniffed and eyed the gold plated watch, set an hour forwards, his posh navy coat, and a satin cravat tied around his thick neck. Atypical of his usual Scotland Yard garb. “Not on duty today?”

     “Er, no. I only work part-time at the Yard these days. Have a new post, you see–as headmaster of an international academy I’ve recently acquired.”

     He paused, as if waiting for my congratulatory response, but instead, I shifted my attention to his thin framed acquaintance. “I see you’ve brought company.”

     The wan-faced man spoke in a feeble voice. “Mr. Ashton.”

     With a noncommittal nod, I ran a quick glance at the man from head to toe. Mismatched buttons, fingernails bitten down to nubbins, sunken and red rimmed eyes. Having made my assessment of the matter, I gestured them back to their seats. It was safe to assume that this would be a tiresome afternoon . . .

      “What brings you here this time, Commissioner? Were your hounds not able to track Irene Diaz?”

      His eyes flashed. “Save your breath, Lady Phantomhive. I do not come to you with such trifles. I merely came to deliver some paperwork to fill.” The Commissioner curtly handed me a document. “It concerns matters from last night.”

     I briefly scanned over the document. It contained an eye-witness account regarding Irene’s arrest, but nothing of urgency. Nothing that warranted an unannounced visit . . . Very well. I would humor him.  
  
     I motioned to Sebastian for a pen and proceeded to fill it out. A tense silence befell the room, punctuated with the occasional scratch of pen to paper and Delacourt’s restless tapping on his armchair. As if sensing this was a good time to bring in the elevenses, Sebastian bowed and excused himself from the room.

     The Commissioner cleared his throat. “I have heard from social circles your new publishing company,  _FunTomes,_  is on the rise. I expect it must be most taxing for a chil–er, someone of your age to manage.”

     “ _Au contraire_ , Commissioner. I find it rather easy to manage. Afterall, aren’t children the best judge of stories?”

     “Er, yes, of course.”

     The Commissioner’s eyes wandered around the room as if trying to find some topic of small talk when Sebastian returned into the parlor, holding a three-tier platter stacked with lemon tarts, English sandwiches, and the leftover blackberry crumpets.

      “I must say these look rather palatable.” The Commissioner brought a crumpet to his eye-glass. “My deepest compliments to your chief.”

     Sebastian bowed. “Your compliments are well received, sir.”

     “So you who made this, did you?” He turned from Sebastian to me. “I see you’ve acquired quite a skilled butler with exquisite tastes, Lady Phantomhive.”

     Sebastian’s eyes glowed with humor. I fixed his gaze through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yes . . . very _exquisite_ tastes.”

     "Of course," said Delacourt. “I suppose that should be expected when one visit the distinguished Phantomhive manor—”

     “I confess I’m not particularly fond of toadying, Inspector,” I said softly. " _Or stalling._ "

      Every muscle in the Commissioner's face tensed. “Pardon . . ?”

      “Do not try to gammon me, Commissioner. I doubt you’ve come all this way as a courtesy visit to drop off menial paperwork or assess my butler’s culinary talent. Pray tell, what is the real reason for this visit?”

     All of a sudden, Mr. Ashton jumped. Anguish clenched his features. His mouth teetered on speech and his body shook as if some paroxysm of hysteria had seized him. Finally, he stood up and yanked a mound of his straw colored hair in a violent fit. 

 _“Arwen!”_ he screeched. _“Astoria!”_

     I froze. _Lizzie’s friends._

     The man let out a loud, pitiable wail and bellowed the names over and over again. My eyes flickered to Sebastian, who gave me a cursory nod. In one fluid move, he pushed the thin framed man back into his seat.  “Pray compose yourself, sir.”

     “I think I shall speak on Mr. Ashton’s behalf seeing he is in no condition to do so himself.” Delacourt's face tempered like steel, as if he was swallowing the last remnants of his pride. “As you’ve guessed, there is another reason for this visit. I fear there is no easy way to ease into this delicate matter, but the state of affairs at Imperial International Academy has been most _pressing_ as of late. It concerns some of the students at the academy . . . namely, our daughters.” Mr. Delacourt clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. “We think that they’re . . . they’re –”

      “T-they’re g-gone,” Mr. Ashton finished hoarsely.

     I exchanged dark looks with Sebastian. “What do you mean _gone?_ ”

     A shadow crept the Commissioner’s face. “It all began last night, soon after Irene Diaz’s arrest. When I returned to my estate, my daughter Isabelle, also an academy student, was nowhere to be found. She had a small row with me earlier that day so naturally, I thought she had went over to a friend’s house to cool off and dismissed her absence. However, today when she still never showed up, my fears started to take seed.”

     He paused, a hard line appearing between his eyebrows. “I was notified by Mr. Ashton this morning that when he had come to collect his daughters, Arwen and Astoria, from the academy, they did not answer his call. Someone was immediately sent to their shared dormitory at the academy, but there was no response. Upon seeing the door was locked, we had no choice but to force it open. There, we found a shattered window, packed belongings, but the young ladies were nowhere to be found.”

      “Any signs of struggle?”

     Mr. Ashton paled. The Commissioner drew in a deep breath and continued. “Books and Academy uniforms were scattered on the floor, broken glass on top of them. Clearly, the room was broken into and ransacked, though it didn’t seem like anything was stolen.”

      “Any other points of singularity?”

     “Well, other than a small spool of thread found outside their door, none.”

     “A bobbin, you say?” I pressed forwards, narrowing my eyes. “Was there anything else singular you noticed?”

     The Commissioner shook his head, but a frown edged along Mr. Ashton's features. He stuck his hand into his waistcoat. “There was something else, though I fear it may not be worth mentioning. I found this on Arwen’s dresser.” He brought out a blue flower; its stem contained a sender tag titled ‘7-12’

      My pulse sped up. Sebastian donned an aura of intense concentration. His eyes glowed faintly before locking with mine. I held his gaze, unnoticed by our audience, and stared darkly at the delicate cerulean blooms. “Do you have any ideas who might want to sabotage your Academy, Commissioner?”

      “Surely not. Just the mere idea of that is unfathomable. I have no enemies, you see.”

     “Everyone has enemies, Commissioner.” I slowly uncrossed my legs. “Even the most principled of men are bound to possess a few. Afterall, one can easily assess the character of a man by the type of enemies he has acquired in life. It is a rare circumstance to not have even a single enemy –unless of course, you’ve been living the dull life of an ass.”

     Scarlet flickered across Delacourt’s eyes.

     A smile crept my lips. “Pardon my rag manners, but you really can’t think of a single person who’d benefit from the disgrace of your academy?”

      “I don’t think there is…unless you consider the headmistress of Eton.”

     “The headmistress?”

     “Yes. Uppity sort of woman who has given me a rather cavalier treatment since we first met at the Emeritus Teaching Assembly some months ago. When I told her I had secured an old building to renovate into an all girls school, the woman did not take to that well. However, to be fair, she has reached out to me recently to arrange some sort of masquerade ball at Imperial Academy where students of both schools will meet and socialize. Of course, I agreed to this, seeing as it would help put any petty rivalry aside.”

     I lowered my eyes.  “And what exactly does the Yard make off all of this?” 

     “They, er, know nothing of the matter.”

     “And why is that?"

     Delacourt shifted in his seat. “Well, you see, being a member of Scotland Yard, I have come to find that perhaps the Yard’s methods are a bit, er, lacking.”

     “You flatter me, Commissioner, but surely that is not the real reason why you come to me.”

      “Beg your pardon?”

     “Come now, Commissioner. You know better than anybody that Scotland Yard has a propensity to make their investigations known to the public.” I pointed to nearby newspaper with last night’s break in. “If you involved the Yard, I expect you’d find the news of your academy in every single newspaper by morning, which of course, would create bad publicity for a school you’ve only recently acquired.”

     The Commissioner’s fingers knotted like a cord. “It’s . . . the enrollments. If word of these disappearances were to get out, we will be forced to close our doors. But, I expect you’ll be able to shed some light on this situation. I’ll have provisions made for you tomorrow when you come take a look at the academy.”

     “Commissioner, I never said I would accept your case.”

     Delacourt blinked. “Surely, I heard wrong. For a moment I thought you said—”

     “You heard right. I fear I may not the best person to help you. My interference, as you’ve made it very clear last night, is _insufferable_.”

     His eyes steeled. “For once your blasted interference is welcomed. Do you not care that Imperial Academy will go to ruins? And what of our daughters? His voice shook. “It is only a matter of time before another girl will be targeted.”

     Before I could reply, he roughly stuffed a hand into his coat pocket and drew out a fat coin bag, throwing it before me.

     At the sight of the bribe, I threw my head back in laughter. Sebastian’s eyes flared in surprise; Delacourt simply stared at me, his face writ with alarm . . . and then outrage. His stood up with force, his watch dropping to the floor.

     “H-how dare you laugh at my plight. You act as if this is all some game to you!”

     “Sit down, Commissioner. Did you truly think I’d bribed by coin?”  My amused gaze drifted around the gilded furnishings of the rococo styled parlor and the Italian marble that gleamed like melted chocolate and vanilla underneath our feet. Following my gaze, the man lost the fierce determination on his face and shrank back in his seat.

      “The Yard would be disappointed if they saw their colleague act in this manner. Keep your money, Commissioner. Material rewards do not interest me.”

      “Then . . . what is it that you want?”

      “Truthfully, sir there is nothing I could possibly want from you. The reward is in the game itself.”

     “Does that mean you accept the case?”

     I stared at the watch lying on the Persian carpet long and hard. After a few moments of deliberation, I faced him. “I have some few pressing matters of my own I must attend to, Commissioner, but I suppose I shall come down to your precious academy tomorrow evening and conduct a brief investigation.”

     The headmaster exhaled. “Thank you. It is some relief to here that.”

     With that, Sebastian and I lead him and a shaken up Mr. Ashton to the main entrance. I watched them settle inside a well-appointed carriage awaiting for him. Once the four wheeler departed, Sebastian shut the door. I whirled around; my plastered smile faded away. 

     “Afterall all the cases I solved for that ingrate at the Yard, how does he thank me? The blasted muttonhead goes off and lands himself in one." I roughly fingered the gold watch off the floor. "Such a pain in the ars–”

     Sebastian clapped his gloved hands together. “ _Language,_ young mistress. As your butler, I cannot have you spewing such coarse words about our guest –even if it is deserved.” He leveled his gaze and searched my face. “That was quite a show you put on, my lady. Most unusual of you not to accept a case outright.”

     “Given all the points of singularity, it is not prudent to delve headfirst in a case as convoluted as this.” I walked over to the window and pressed my hand against the cold glass. Cerulean eyes reflected at me, dark and calculating. “That bobbin found outside . . . ”

     “Can easily lock a door from the outside,” finished Sebastian. “A similar incident as Georg Von Siemen's locked room that Mr. Arthur Wordsmith elaborated on. One merely needs to affix the latch using a threaded needle, run the thread under the door and pull it out from the outside –leaving behind a locked door with no fingerprints. A cliché trick used in mystery novels, if I do say so.”

     “Indeed,” I said darkly. “But the perpetrator isn't trying to write a book—more like, trying to create a ruse. That ruse becomes even more apparent if you introduce the shattered window into the mix. The Commissioner and Mr. Ashton noticed glass pieces _on top_ of the ransacked knickknacks. Had the glass been underneath, it would indicate an intruder broke the window and _then_ ransacked the place. However, if the glass pieces were found on top of all the items, it becomes quite clear that culprit made the place looked ransacked, then broke the window. In other words, a poorly staged a break-in, wouldn’t you say?”

     “Quite so, but I daresay you are not being completely honest, young mistress. That little ploy isn’t the real reason you didn’t accept the case outright.” Sebastian held my gaze with a quiet, but smoldering intensity. I fought the need to retreat from his stare.

      “I am sure you’ve noticed as well as I, young mistress. The other _singular_ points in this case –one of them being this.” Sebastian brandished the blue flower and twirled it idly by its stem. “The inscription in the sender tag, ‘ _7-12’_  is nothing more than 7-8-9-10-11-12 expanded, coincidentally matching the numerical signature _7891011 12_ from last night.”

      “There is no coincidence about it. The cases are connected. That flower found in the girl's dormitory matches the blue petal I found in London Tower last night. But even more than that . . . ”

     I took a step towards Sebastian. His vermillion eyes glistened as I reached for his gloved hand.

     “Sebastian, the flower in your hand is a Dentelaire du Cap, of the rare variety known as _Bleu Ciel_. From that matters are clear. Someone is personally challenging me to a game.”

      “Then what do you intend to do about it, my lady?” he whispered.

     A Cheshire smile crept my lips. “Well, I intend to play the game, of course—until I hear the word _checkmate.”_

     Sebastian chuckled and kneeled, raising my hand to his lips. “In that case, I shall be the Queen's pawn and knight. So then . . .” His voice dropped to a silken whisper. 

_"Move me into place, my young mistress.”_

 


	3. The Headmaster's Letter

                                                                                       

Ch 3:  The Headmaster’s Letter

 

     Inside the cage, I encircled my arms around my knees, and glanced up. The air sounded with deafening moans and laughter. A hooded figure smiled and dragged a pair of twin girls from their confines. My chest constricted. I clamped my hands over my ears when another voice, a fluid and powerful one, droned over the rest.

_Call my name._

     Sebastian.

_Louder._

     Sebastian . . . Sebastian . . .  _Sebastian!_

     An unearthly chuckle dissipated through the darkness, drowning out the moans and laughter. I wheeled around. Through the bars of the cage, a pair of piercing fuchsia orbs fastened on me. A silhouetted hand reached through the bars. I desperately met it with my own; the moment I gripped it, my eye blazed fervently, the contract now forged. In a flash, I was out of the cage—and placed in a new one.

     Trapped with the very beast that just saved me.

     I froze, my back pressing against the metal bars as the beast curled its lips into a ghastly smile, a tongue lapping across them. Tainted desire flickered in those slit-like eyes, making my heart stutter, and yet, beneath that, I sensed raw, unbridled hunger. A hunger only I could satisfy. My palms went damp as the the beast drew near, its sinful lips about to ravage.

     I had become prey. 

     I woke with a sharp intake of air, and my body spasmed at the concerned face hovering above my own.

     “That must have been quite the night terror, my lady.” A cashmere shawl, scented with sprigs of soothing rose-hip, drifted around my shoulders. 

     An uneven laugh escaped my lips as I sat up from the tangled linens and faced Sebastian. “What makes you say that?”

     “Young mistress, please do not insult my intelligence. I could hear you screaming your head off from the hallway. You were moaning in your sleep . . . calling for me over and over.”

     Heat swiped my cheeks at the inflection in his tone, but more so at my own imprudence. To his credit, Sebastian pretended not notice. He gestured to the breakfast tray laid out on the nightstand. The _carte du jour_ for today consisted of Devilled eggs Brioche Buns with Hollandaise sauce, a side of cherries, and Earl Grey tea, all served in Royal Doulton. Sebastian handed a cup to me, his long, gloved fingers brushing mine. I nearly dropped  the teacup. Sebastian lifted a brow, and in a quick attempt to cover up my fumble, I reached for the fruit.

     “Some cream for your cherry?”

     He drew near, and like a reflex, I careened away from him, the cherry dropping onto the duvet. Sebastian lowered the decanter filled with Devonshire cream. His gaze washed over me, brows knitted, searching my face in scrutiny. Then something in his expression changed; his eyes flickered.

    “Is something the matter, young mistress?" His voice lilted like caramel and honey. “You seem a trifle done up.”

      I threw him an irascible glare. “ _No._ Everything is perfectly fine.”

     “Glad to hear," he said smoothly. "In that case, I should remind you have quite a long day ahead of you. The investigation at the academy, perusing crinolines alongside Lady Elizabeth for her academy's ball—not to mention, the director of Hinds & Noble has requested a meeting with you last week regarding _FunTomes_ 's funding, which you have yet to respond to.”

      I exhaled. “I know all that. I had planned to spend this morning in hopes I’d procure a decent manuscript that I could present to the director this week.”

     Sebastian cleared his throat. “My lady, the reason I bring up the director in the first place is because, well, the man showed up moments ago on the doorstep. In fact, he is waiting for you in your downstairs study as we speak.”

     I choked on the tea, spraying drops of Earl Grey all over the coverlet—and Sebastian. He stared at his soiled glove with mild irritation. 

     “Why didn’t you inform me that sooner?” I snapped. Leaving the half eaten breakfast on the nightstand, I hastily threw on a tartan coat, crammed my feet into the persimmon slippers, and fumbled with the ribbon at the collar. 

      A resigned sigh sounded.  “Goodness gracious, cannot even tie a knot properly.”

     Without my acquiescence, Sebastian's long, capable hands reached for the loose knot. With a gentle tug, the ribbon came undone. I stared at the floor, our feet almost touching. If anyone witnessed a butler and his mistress on such familiar terms, no doubt, they’d deem it improper—perhaps even scandalous. But with Sebastian, such familiarities had grown commonplace. Expected. Ever since that day he had arrived to Phantomhive manor three years ago. That day he had become a part of my shadow.

     Sebastian crossed one hand over the other in steady, fluid movements. When his fingers brushed against my sternum, my lips went taut. His fingers briefly paused. "Something the amiss, young mistress?"

    "Yes," I murmured. "Your hands are moving at a snail's pace."

    Vermilion eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. "My apologies, young mistress." The demon feigned a servile voice as his gloved hands moved faster, a dizzying white blur that rendered me almost breathless. Once he firmly double knotted the ribbon, Sebastian gestured to the corridor and accompanied me to my study. Just as I reached for the knob, a slippery smile touched the butler's lips. “I wish you good luck, my lady _.”_

      I raised a brow at him suspiciously. When did Sebastian ever offer spurious niceties like wishing me 'luck' in my business ventures? I peered through the window of my study, and my stomach dropped. 

     A dark mustached man sat in a gilded armchair before my desk. With his back to me, I couldn’t make out his front profile, but studying his facial features wasn’t required to deduce his current mood. The director’s hand said it all. He gripped onto the faceted glass handle of his derby cane with such force that his knuckles took on a whitish tinge. _Blast._

     I drew in a deep breath and turned the knob. As soon as the door creaked open, the director flitted his hard, steely eyes at me. I could see the disapproval gleaming in each one of them.  

     “Good morning, Mr. Noble. What a pleasant surprise to see you here.” I offered him a saccharine smile that, of course, went unreciprocated.

      “Lady Phantomhive,” he said, his voice laden with displeasure. “I presume you know why I’m here…or _perhaps_ all the letters I’ve sent to you have gone strangely undelivered.”

     My mouth went dry. “Mr. Noble, please allow me to explain for the lack of correspondence. I was preoccupied with assisting Scotland Yard and—“

     “Hum! I did not come all this way to hear your excuses for disregarding my letters! I merely came here to collect the manuscript you were supposed to give me for the upcoming book festival competition.” He paused and lowered his lids. “You _do_ have it by now I take it? Or perhaps I need to take my funding elsewhere . . .”

 _Elsewhere?_ My mind raced, though my external facade remained unruffled.  “Of course, I have it, Mr. Noble.”

     “You…do?”

      I nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “I came upon it after sifting through scores and scores of manuscripts–truth be told, I finished it in one sitting.”

     Mr. Noble pressed forwards. “That good –is it?”

     “Oh very.” I gathered more bravado. “I haven’t the slightest doubt this manuscript will not disappoint the judging panel at the book festival. I’d wager it shall more than appeal to the masses once _FunTomes_ has secured first place.”

     “The . . . masses?” The director’s eyes shone, and I could’ve sworn I caught a faint smile underneath that ridiculously combed mustache of his. At this rate, my white lies would cover an entire mountain with snow, and yet I couldn’t bring myself out of this taradiddle. I was in too deep waters to back out now.

      “In that case, allow me to commend you, Lady Phantomhive,” said Mr. Noble. “This is the exact sort of thing I was looking for when I offered to fund your publishing venture.” His eyes darted around my desk. “Well, where is it –the manuscript?”

    “It’s er, not here at the moment.”

     “And why blooming not?” 

     The cogs in my head clicked fast. “The thing about that, you see…the novelist was keen on making a few adjustments to the first three chapters before I showed it to you and assured  me those changes would be finished by the end of this week.”

     “Is that so?” murmured Mr. Noble. “I suppose I can make an exception for a manuscript that promises to be exceptional. Can expect the submission on my office desk, say first thing next week?”

     “Of course,” I said with another manufactured smile.

     Mr. Noble nodded and picked up his derby cane. A part of me marveled that someone could be dense enough to buy that cock-and-bull-story. I suppose a lie wrapped in detail went down with ease. Just before the director took his leave, he paused and turned, his eyes lowering at me. 

     “Lady Phantomhive, I truly hope that for your own sake that this story is as _exceptional_ as you claim it is.”

      I stared back at him, unfazed. “I give you my word. Mr. Noble –the manuscript will surpass any novel I've brought you before.”

     “Well, then, good and remember . . . first thing next week.” With that, Mr. Noble tipped his hat and finally left. When I heard the front door close, I grumbled aloud and collapsed on my desk.

      “My, what a tangled web you weave, young mistress.”

     I slowly raised my head to see Sebastian standing before me. “I take it you heard that whole train wreck?”

     “Unfortunately,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I know conniving has long been a specialty of yours, but I must confess, even _I_ am agog to see how you’ll scheme your way out of this one, given the others tasks at hand. Shall I inform Lady Elizabeth you are too busy to accompany her this evening?”

      “No. A well balanced life finds time for everything—work, social engagements, missing girls. And _tea.”_

Sebastian merely lowered his lids. "Coming right away, young mistress . . ."

                                                                                       *     *      *

     For the next few hours, I cooped myself in my study, rejected manuscripts strewn all around me. After going through fifty submissions, I couldn’t understand how I could find something wrong with every one of them. I rummaged through the pile and mechanically, picked the next.

     I read the title aloud. “ _Dusk._ ” A simple yet intriguing title. But a few pages in, I scrunched up my face. What a waste of literary ink. A weak willed protagonist pining away for her vampire lover. Tch. Those stories were a pence a dozen. With a grumble, I tossed it to the reject stash and choose another. This one was hardly any better—overwritten, prose-like, and too flowery. Perhaps, I should put in a word to the bloke who wrote this that FunTomes took novels, not ill-written poetry. I rubbed my temples and suppressed the urge to chuck the manuscript into the dust bin. There had to be _something_ in this blasted pile that was decent.

     I blew a strand of hair out of my eye and glowered at the ticking clock that continued to mock me. Only one manuscript remained on the desk. I closed my eyes and held it up. “Please, please, give me something exceptional..." Slowly, I opened my eyes to see what my hand held. A memoir. My breath caught as I skimmed through the contents. This one by far the most exceptional manuscript I’d seen all day... in the most awful way possible.

     I turned to a page where the author listed the names of all her 16 horses her father had purchased for sixteenth birthday: _Princesse, Beau, Bellismo, Maximilian..._ I just couldn’t read on. I flipped the manuscript to its cover page and eyed the author’s name in disgust: _Angelica Develigne—_ also the title of the book. 

      My fists shook. With lack of proper sleep, an impending manuscript deadline, and a case of missing girls on my plate, I could no longer conceal my irritation. I sprang up from my desk, raised my arm high in the air, and chucked the abomination across the study. It flew in midair and missed the dust bin by centimeters.

     The sound of clapping tore through the air. 

     “Simply bravo, young mistress, I see you’re coming along wonderfully.”  Mortified, I slowly turned to see Sebastian standing inside the doorway, vermilion orbs glistening with mirth. “I hope I am not interrupting something.”

      “No…I was just...”

     _“Yes?”_

     I turned away, my cheeks aflame. “What do you want, Sebastian?”

     “I’ve only come to give you the daily post.” He brandished the items and let it drift onto my desk. “A letter from regarding Funtom Toys, an invitation to another one of Viscount Druitt’s soirees—I shuddered at the horrid flashback—another package of new _FunTomes_ manuscripts, an early birthday card from Prince Soma and Agni—and one, you may be interested to know, comes from the Commissioner.”

     I grumbled. “I’ll see to all the letters in a little while. Besides, I am supposed to meet the glock at the academy in an hour anyway.”

     “Yes, well, that’s the only reason I came down here…I’ll, ah, leave you to whatever it is you were doing before.” His lips twitched as he turned to leave.

     “Hold on.” Ignoring his mocking demeanor, I narrowed my eyes at him. "I have an another blasted pile of manuscripts to attend to. Hence, I need you to cancel my engagements with Lizzie before she starts from her residence. It would take a normal carriage an hour to reach her in this snow. However…I presume thirty minutes is plenty enough for someone of _your stamp_ to run her a quick message. That is, thirty minutes— _to and fro_.” I laced my fingers under my chin and gave him a demure smile. “Surely, you could do that…?”

     As if sensing the challenge in my voice, Sebastian leaned on my desk in a casual manner. “I fear I may not return by then–but in twenty.” He spoke in a drawl, his warm breath trickling against my face. A shiver ran down my corset lacings. “Do make the game atleast a _little_ challenging, young mistress.”

    I backed into my Queen Anne armchair until I couldn’t anymore. A dratted flush rose to my face. Once more, the lines of authority had quickly became distorted. Blasted demon. Like I'd let him get away with that.   

    “Cease this woolgathering. Return no later than fifteen minutes, Sebastian— _that's an order_.”

     “Very well, young mistress,” he said smoothly. With a curt bow that bordered incivility, Sebastian exited my study. I resumed back to my work and ripped open up a brown paper package that contained a batch of new manuscripts for FunTomes, when I paused. Standing up, I swiped a curtain aside.

      There in the snow blanketed ground stood Sebastian. I watched, almost transfixed, as his eyes changed from vermillion to that familiar fuchsia glow. He kicked off on his legs and effortlessly passed through the ice laden trees like a sleek phantom. His tailcoat billowed in the wind as the branches supported his long, lithe legs. Slowly, I returned my attention to his full silhouette, now no more than a black speck in the distance. Within seconds, the cold, misty fog engulfed his person from my sight.

      I wrapped my arms around myself and glanced up at the dark, overcast skies that pressed heavily upon the wintry landscape. My brows knitted, and something inexplicable pulled deep within my core. I drew the curtain close. 

      In need of distraction, I ambled into the music room and picked up the violin. My fingertips pressed down on the strings. Sharps, flats, naturals –an arpeggio of tingling strings filled the space, blocking out the low rumbles and claps outside. I jerked my bow harder, playing with verve, the fast tempo of Bach’s _Toccata and Fugue_ wrapping around me, clinging to every nook and cranny. I swayed to and fro; my hands coaxed and cajoled the dark, rich notes of the fugue as I practiced once, twice, thrice. Then somewhere, a pull of a bell brought me out of my reverie, and my bow tripped. A discordant fourth pierced the air.

     I glanced up at the grandfather clock. Fifteen minutes had elapsed. Lowering the violin, I peered past the window. Sebastian had reappeared in front of the manor, true to his word, his expression raw as the song I had just played.

     I felt my brows crease. I went to the main entrance and paused. Sebastian met my gaze, his eyes dark and intent. He appeared none too pleased to see me as he stepped inside, his sodden tailcoat dripping a steady trail into the main hall. Despite his unseemliness, he still somehow looked...seemly. His dark locks, disheveled and drenched, accentuated his alabaster visage; his wet tailcoat clung to his frame, revealing the outline of a lean, toned torso. When my gaze drifted lower, my cheeks grew warm.

       "Young mistress...?"

       I forced my wandering eyes to his face and made my voice tart. “Well, did you deliver my message?”

       “I did,” Sebastian said in low murmur. “I had given it to Paula, her chambermaid, who said she’d give it to Lady Elizabeth once she returned back from her…engagements.”

       “Engagements?" I said slowly. "What engagements?”

        Sebastian faced me, the fog clouding the window behind his dark silhouette like a ghost. Light from the hearth flickered across his vermilion orbs. My chest tightened as we stared at each other for several moments. Then, the hearth crackled, breaking the strange silence between us.

       “Young mistress, it appears her chambermaid is under the impression Lady Elizabeth is out in town—at Nina Hopkin's Boutique. _With you_.”

       I felt all the color drain from my face.  “What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”  

        Sebastian’s face creased as he procured a damp slip. “The maid also gave me this. She said she received it this morning and was nearly about to throw it away, thinking it was some schoolboy joke. I believe it will be of interest to you.”

      I snatched the note from his hand and swore aloud.

 

                                                                     _      ' _LET US SEE IF WE HAVE CHEMIST R Y:_ _13 6 2 M 39'__

 

     “' _Bollocks!”_   I collapsed on a nearby armchair and rubbed small circles on the sides of my forehead, the queer cipher barely registering. Surely, I was mistaken. Lizzie could have very well been elsewhere. I stared hard at the dainty charm bracelet dangling off my wrist. Perhaps she traveled to Nina Hopkin's by herself because she still harbored a grudge over our carrom match. Or perhaps, she had found someone else to accompany her last minute. As I contemplated on a plethora of other poorly thought out excuses for Lizzie’s absence, an image of a forgotten letter sitting on my desk snaked into my mind. My insides turned to ice.

     “Sebastian, the letter from Delacourt—”

     “Understood, young mistress.”

     In seconds, Sebastian had deposited the article into my unsteady hand. I ripped open the envelope and yanked out a handwritten letter secured on top of a wad of papers. 

     “ _Dear Lady Phantomhive,_

_As you know, the affairs at Imperial International Academy have been very pressing of late. Just when I thought the matter could not worsen, today five girls, whose names appeared on the roll call of morning classes, did not appear in the roll call of the afternoon classes. A thorough check of the academy grounds was conducted with no sign of them._

_I fear the same thing has occurred once more, which is why I must impress upon you to come down to the academy immediately. We cannot afford to wait longer, given these new developments. To expedite your investigation, I have enclosed a copy of the student records of all the young ladies who have gone missing till date._ ’

     I scavenged through the enclosed papers. Arwen Ashton, Astoria Ashton, Isabelle R. Delacourt, Mina Singh West, Victoria Alice Macmillan, Avril Alouette Chateau. When I flicked the last page, I felt as though someone had drenched me with a bucket of ice-cold water.

     My fingers shook as a familiar bright face smiled up at me and under the photograph, the words that paralyzed my limbs, 'Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford'.

 _“L-lizzie…”_    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Geez, I'm having so much fun nerding out with these ciphers. I plan on starting on easy ones and working my way into the harder ones. Brownie points if you guessed what the word '13-6-2 -M-39' is (The M is given for a reason). Hint: It's all about the chemistry, baby.


	4. Damsel in Distress

                                                           

      The clip-clop of hooves thundered around us. We sped through the frozen outskirts of London, the white, undulating moors stretching over the expanse. I held fast to my seat as the carriage rattled, attuning to my own whirring mind. Emerald orbs sparking with light and ardor consumed my every thought. 

       “I wonder what that detective of your Mr. Wordsmith would say in such a circumstance,” Sebastian mused softly.

       I stared at him hard. “If you’re referring to Sherlock Holmes, I imagine he’d say emotional qualities were antagonistic to reasoning.”

      “Quite so." Sebastian lowered his gaze to the slip of paper in my hand. “Perhaps you ought to take a page out of his book. It does not do well for the head of the Phantomhive to become so overwrought, so . . .  _affected_.”

       I clenched my fist. As much as I loathed to admit it, he was right. It took all my resolve to block out the warm, seraph smile that flashed relentlessly in my mind. I regarded the cipher in front of me with cold, calculating observation.

        ' _LET US SEE IF WE HAVE CHEMIST R Y:_ _13 6 2 M 39'_

     I skimmed over the discernible numbers and fixated on the disconnected ‘R’. Judging from the precision of the strokes and pressure of the quill, I suspected that move had been deliberate—to make the letter stand out among the rest. As to why, I couldn't ascertain.

                                                              

      “Let us see if we have chemistry,” Sebastian recited. I couldn’t help but notice a trace of distaste in his voice. “A rather forward line if I do say.”

      “Not particularly, unless aluminum and carbon constitute words of coquetry.” I glazed over the second line. “I’m sure you’ve noticed it as well I have—the numbers stand for numbers. Atomic numbers to be precise. The 13 corresponds to aluminum, abbreviated formally as Al. The 6 is Carbon—C, the 2 is Helium—He, then comes M which is given. Figures, there aren’t any chemical elements with the symbol M. And finally 39 refers to Yttrium—Y. If you string the symbols, Al, C, He, M, Y, together you’re left with nothing but _alchemy.”_

       “It would seem that is not the only thing you’re left with, young mistress . . .” 

      I followed his glowing line of vision to the scrap in hand. My pulse quickened. Aware of Sebastian’s heightened sense of sight, I flicked the message over but only to be met by a blank space. I held the paper under a wisp of light and strained my eyes. Then, I caught it. A scrawl of letters in faint penciling: _NOFNeNa Mg._

      I exchanged a dark look with Sebastian. “Do you know what this means?”

      Sebastian's voice dipped low. “The symbols undoubtedly stand for Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluoride, Neon, Sodium, and Magnesium, which, if I’m not mistaken, lie next to each other in the periodic table. In other words, _consecutive_ atomic numbers.”

      From the inflection in his tone, I knew he had figured out what this signified. “Sebastian, the chemical symbols refer to the 7,8,9,10,11, and 12th element– the numerical signature ‘ _7891011 12'_ from the previous cipher.”

      Sebastian went silent as I crumpled the note into a little ball.  _What was the note sender playing at?_ Moreover, what the blooming fish did alchemy have to do with any of it?

       Flopping back in my seat, I leaned my cheek against the cold window and fiddled with Lizzie’s bracelet. The white outskirts had faded, now replaced with snow covered buildings. Our conveyance pulled into Whitechapel. We past milliners, guttersnipes, perfumeries, and questionable lithograph vendors. Snowflakes wafted down, thick and incessant, accumulating onto the passing roads. Onto nearby tramcars, onto Nina Hopkins’s Boutique, onto . . . I held my breath. My eyes flashed back through the frosted glass.

      _“Stop the carriage!”_

      The coachman pulled on the reins, rendering the vehicle to a screeching halt. I lurched forwards from the violent movement. Instantly, a heady scent of eau de cologne, Earl Grey, and silver polish invaded my lungs. To my mortification, I found my face on the crook of Sebastian’s neck, my legs across his lap; satin clad fingers surrounded my waist, lifting me to glowing fuchsia orbs.

      "What’s wrong, young mistress?” he whispered. My breath caught under his penetrating stare. 

     “ _Move,”_ I blurted. I disengaged myself from our entwined form and thrust the carriage door open. A chilly draft swept into the compartment. Sebastian appeared nonplussed as I hiked up my attire to my knees and without a word, took off.

      Adrenaline barreled through my veins. The frigid wind blasted my face as I practically skated through the streets, the cobblestone slick with ice. A narrow alley, tucked away from passerbys, came into view, I swerved into it, my body fagged and panting. Almost fully concealed by the shadows, a slim young woman in a cloak stood pressed against a back wall—but she wasn’t alone. I ducked behind a crate.

      “Why so scar’d lassy?”A burly man slurred in a cockney accent. “I won’ ruffle ye up . . . much.”

       I ran a quick glance at him. Green eyeshades, counters from St. James, and an Ace of Spades peeking out from his gaspipe pockets – _a gambler._

       “S-stay back,” the young woman whispered. “I have no valuables on me.”

      “Then ye won’t mind me checkin’ ye out-eh?” The gambler fixated on her with opium glazed eyes. Without warning, his hand plunged through the opening of her cloak. She gasped as his hand groped around and then paused. His slowly drew out a leatherette bag. “Well, well what do we ‘ave ‘ere?”

      He roughly shook her knapsack upside down. Out tumbled a loaf of stale bread, cheese, a map, and then a small glinting object. The man scrambled to the ground, but as he held the silver piece up, his sneer faded into a disappointed frown.

       “Damme, not even a shillin’.” 

      He flung the silver object over his shoulders, and it landed in a pile of snow near my feet. I narrowed my eyes at the object—a familiar key engraved _S.Y_.

      The man returned his attention to the young lady. “No mat’er. I’m sure der boss will pay me handsomely fer bringing back another vixen fer him –once I’m dun fanning ye, o’course.” He grimaced, revealing two sets of yellow, crooked teeth.

      “Y-you keep away from me else I'll report you.” The young woman gripped her cloak tighter around her and stepped back until her elbows grazed the wall.

      The man guffawed and gripped her wrist vice-like. His other hand reached out to stroke her hooded face. Immobilized, she watched on helplessly, her body trembling as his meaty fingers neared a centimeter away.

      “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

      The man spun on his haunches. “ _Who said tat?”_

      “I did.” A sudden shadow swept over the alley. Once it passed by, there I stood, arms crossed, fixing him a cool gleam. “The likes of you aren’t fit to even scrap the dirt under her shoes.”

      At the mere sight of me, the gambler exploded in laughter. “Well, well, if it ain’t another lolita. Wot say ye join us? More, the merrier I ‘ways say.”

      “I think I’ll pass on that tempting offer. But if you’ll hand her to me, I’ll take my leave. I’m in something of a hurry.”

       “Ye think yer in a position t’make demands, rabbit? Me thinks ‘erhaps, yer not altogether der.”

      “Au contraire, I’m perfectly sane.”

      “ _Ho, really?_ Then surely yer realize yer overpowered? Yas hardly half o’ me.” He flexed his massive arm at me in a threatening manner.

       My brows knitted. “I confess I find being confronted by someone of your substantial stature somewhat problematic.” I cocked my head and considered his bulky size. “Too much imbecility in one place.”

        _“Why ye bricky little . . ._ ” He cracked his knuckles and raised a fist, but I cut him off by raising my own hand, making sure his black beady eyes caught a full view of Lizzie’s charm bracelet.

      “See this? These charms here are genuine precious stones—worth more than a month of wagers you attain from your gambling house at St. James. This trinket can be yours if play a game with me.” I peered at him through my thick lashes and coiled a strand of hair around my finger. “A game of cards, that is.”

       “A game eh?  The gambler guffawed. His breath smelled just as he looked, foul and repulsive, a mixture of Absinthe, bad cheese, opium. _And other unspeakable things._ I held my nose as he jabbered. “What’re yer rules, rabbit?”

      “Simple. We shuffle the deck and place five cards face down. We then guess what lies under the cards without flipping them.” I provided him a brief demonstration and laid out five cards, face down. “Now, I shall guess with a Queen, Six, Nine, Three, and a Jack. Let us see if I’ve matched any.” I flipped the cards over. None of the five cards matched my call. I felt my brows crease.

      The drunk barked with derisive laughter, but I continued in a tart voice. “Whoever makes more correct guesses is the victor. If I win, you’ll release her.” My gaze flickered to the young lady. “However, if you win, you can keep this charm bracelet—do you accept the stakes?”

      “Make it der trinket – _and her._ Then I’ll ‘cept.”

       “Suit yourself.” The young lady drew in sharp breath and faced me as though as I had lost my marbles. The drunk grimaced and whipped out a pack of cards from his pocket. As he shuffled it, I stopped him. “Do you mind if we used my cards instead?” I made my voice rich and smooth as I pulled out a Funtom’s deck of cards from my pocket. “I’d like a fair game –preferably using cards _without indentations_ along its sides. If you would just shuffle my cards first . . . We can do the body shuffle later if you win.” My lips lifted into a demure smile.

       “Heh, fine, but I’m goin’ first.” He placed five cards face down and announced his call: Ten, King, Jack, Seven, Eight, and Nine. When he flipped the cards over, two of his numbers matched.

      The man’s mouth curved into a nasty smile. “Let’s see ye beat that, rabbit.”

      “Let's.” I placed five cards face down and contorted my face in concentration. “I shall proceed with Nine, Ace, Jack, Six, and . . . a Queen.” When I flicked the cards up, all five matched.  The man gave a violent start and snatched them up, scrutinizing the fronts, backs, and sides.

      “I’m afraid you won’t find any physical defects like amateurish nicks on them. I’d even lend you a magnifier if you doubt my words.” A honeyed cadence colored my voice “Perhaps a mere fluke was all.”

      “Bloody hell it was,” he snarled, shuffling the deck thrice. “Go again, and clamp yer eyes. I’ll draw yer cards for ye this time.”

      “Do whatever you must to put your mind at ease.” I closed my eyes. As he laid the cards face down, I pinched my trembling lips together, suppressing the laughter that threatened to erupt from them.

      “ _Why the devil are ye—”_

      “An Ace, Two, Five, Queen, and then –a _Fool_.” My lashes fluttered open. I watched in relish as he fanatically flicked the cards up.

       All the cards matched.

      “ _Impossible_.” The man swiped at the cards; his fist shook. “Ye bloody tricked me.”

      "If you fall for the same thing over and over, you have no one to blame but yourself." A languid smile spread my lips. "Afterall, if you can't spot the trick and can't beat the game, then you're nothing but a loser.” 

      The gambler's eyes flickered scarlet as he lunged at me. I careened out of his path, but only to feel Lizzie’s bracelet slid off my wrist. Before I could recover it, the man snatched it off the ground and crammed it into his gaspipe. Then his black beady eyes shifted to the young lady. A menacing grin slithered across his mouth. 

 _Damnation._ I almost forgot about her. Almost of their own accord, my hands plunged into the ground, scooping up to massive handfuls of snow. Mustering all my strength, I hurled them straight ahead. The massive snowballs smacked the side of drunk's face.

       He whirled around, swiping the snow away.  “Y-ye bitch.”

      “I prefer the Queen’s guard dog.” 

      His eyes flashed with malevolence as he stalked forwards to the young lady in the cloak. More snowballs made contact, but this time, the man didn’t even bat an eye as he viciously grasped the train of her dress, tearing it, and reeled her in like a caught, flailing fish. With his other hand, he yanked the hood backwards. I knew the young woman’s identity even before her disheveled blonde hair spilled out. Before the man wrenched the edge of her corset. Before he pressed his hands around her neck. Before a shrill scream escaped her rose stained lips and fell silent. 

_Irene Diaz._

_*  *  *_

      The man dragged the unconscious opera singer in one hand and stumbled towards me. "It's ye turn. I wonder what ye have underneath ‘em daisy roots.” He lunged at my leg, but I jerked backwards, permitting him to wrench off only my boot.

       He slurred in rage. “Stop sodding moving around." The drunk raised his massive arm high above, about to slam it down, when all of a sudden, his body went rigid. "W-wot's happening?"

      The cold atmosphere stirred around us. The nape of my neck prickled, my fear now replaced with a frisson of anticipation. The air quivered as though brimming with a powerful presence it could no longer contain. I felt him before I even saw him.

      “No one lays a finger on my mistress,” whispered a soft, deep voice.

       “W-wot? Who said that?” The drunk gambler's eyes darted around the alley. "Show yerself."

      "As you wish." Sebastian descended like a sleek thoroughbred. He lithely landed in front of me, an overwhelming aura pervading from him. His eyes smoldered at the man with latent ire, but then they swept over at the playing cards strewn across his feet, and a hint of amusement and exasperation suffused them. “Goodness, aren’t you apt at playing the damsel in distress?”

      “Shut up. If you care to make yourself useful, you’ll rid me of this eye-sore.” My contracted eye blazed at him.

      “Understood, my lady.” Sebastian’s eyes glittered dark. I felt his body grow taut and ready beside mine.  Like a dark horse restive to unleash it's harnessed energy, he stalked towards the vermin. Slowly, but with perverse eagerness, he bite off his glove, finger by finger.

      The man quaked, his eyes darting to the glove Sebastian unceremoniously casted to the floor. “Wot-wot’re ye doin’?” As if he could foretell his providence, the gambler scrambled against the wall almost as though he’d melt into it. My mouth twisted. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn’t be that lucky.

      “Do pardon me,"  Sebastian said with a sigh. "I only fear my gloves might get a bit . . . besmirched.” 

      Before the man could protest, in the blink of an eye, Sebastian stood behind him, pinning the his wrists against his shoulder blades, while his free hand placed Irene safely down.

      The man let out a guttural cry. “W-who the bloody hell are ye?”

        A deep chuckle escaped the butler as he began to shift into his unearthly form. Darkness bathed him like the backdrop of a starless night. Sebastian raised his free hand, exposing our contracted mark.  Slit-like pupils blazed at the vermin's colorless face without mercy. My lips curled.

        "I am . . . merely _one hell of a butler_.”

 

* * *

 

***A brief preview of the next chapter: Sebastian goes beast-mode, Cielle succumbs to an asthma attack (watching the elite trash take out the non-elite trash), and Irene Diaz reveals some vital info that connects to Lizzie's disappearance. The SebaCiel romantic subplot takes off from the next chapter—oh, and this time, it's from Seb's POV. ;]


	5. That Butler, Revelation {Sebastion's POV}

                                                                   

                                                                                                {Sebastian's POV}

* * *

 

                

 

     A maelstrom of feathers shrouded the dastard. “I-impossible,” he breathed. “Ye…ye can’t be real.”

     “ _Oh, he’s quite real_ ,” said Cielle. I could discern a smile in the mistress’s velvety tones.  “In fact, Sebastian, why don’t you show him how real you truly are?”

     I chuckled. “It would be my pleasure, but first…” I released him and held out my hand. “I believe you have something that belongs to my mistress.”

      “W-wot?”

      “The trinket you pilfered.”

      “Take it –take everythin’.” He threw Miss Elizabeth’s bracelet and all his counters to the floor before raising his hands in surrender. She collected all the items and stood in front of him, Cheshire-Cat complacent.

     Slowly, Cielle turned to me. Something wicked flickered deep within the sapphire irises. Her lips curved at me like a hellion delighting in a game or a mischievous kitten up to no good. “Sebastian…why don’t you do as you please with our depraved friend here. I imagine a starving demon like you would enjoy ravaging him— _wouldn’t you_?” Smoldering cerulean eyes fixed my own.

     That little imp.  

     As if I’d actually relish some vermin on a platter. While blood could portray the essence of a soul, the essence from the man reeked of him –vile and despoiled with corruption. Hardly a comparison to the tempting, intoxicating essence that stood before me…I stared at that creamy, unblemished neck.

     A sudden pang of hunger pierced through me.

     “Well?” prompted Cielle.

     I straightened my tie, regaining myself. “I’m afraid I do not find the essences of half-rats palatable, young mistress.”

      “How dull. Then, I suppose the prudent course of action is to see that he won’t dare to lay his grimy hands on a lady.” She spoke in dulcet accents, but her eyes blazed at me like cold fire.

     “Of course, young mistress.” I bowed to her, concealing a serpentine smile at her consent. In the blink of an eye, I grasped the half-rat’s wrists from behind and hummed in a sing-song manner. “You seem rather attached to these.”

     He glanced over his shoulders in horror. “No –no please…not that.”

     Chuckling, I gave his arms a gentle tug and increased my force, little by little, until I found myself wrenching his sinews. The man released a guttural plea and writhed like a helpless fly caught in a spider’s web.

     “S-stop it. Y-yer going to break ‘em…”

      “My, I fear I’m not feeling that generous. You should consider yourself most fortunate if I do not _rip_ them from your person.” A deep throaty laugh escaped me.

     I yanked his sinews harder, breaking the skin. Exhilaration barreled through my veins, my restraint slipping away with it. The shadows cloaked my transformation as I fully succumbed to my true form. My fangs lengthened; my eyes tightened to slits, hellfire blazing within the fuchsia orbs; smoky tendrils enveloped my full length – the graceful butler no more.

     All my senses heightened. Every essence around me grew sharper. The saccharine essences of debutantes at the dress shops blocks away, the man’s fetid essence of debauchery that rolled off his skin in waves and then…another essence. One that prevailed over them all. My head swam.

     I greedily drank it in—a delicious contradiction of flavors. Strong, musky, tart, all masked in an outer Elysian-like sweetness. I could feel my slit-like pupils constrict. The tantalizing essence overwhelmed me…consumed me… _invigorated me_. “Yess,” I hissed. I fastened my eyes on my mistress and wetted my fangs, hardly paying attention to the crack and snap of tendons. Unbridled hunger surged through me with intensity unlike ever before. Veiled in the shadows, I raised my dark silhouetted hand at Cielle, excitement coursing through every nerve. 

_“That’s enough.”_

     Cielle’s voice rang sharp, breaking me out of my disgraceful reverie. The dark tendrils retreated like a wave from the unconscious man. Breathing hard, I ran my tongue over my lips and tilted my head back. _What on earth had spurred such a reaction?_ My unseemly features began to fade as I regained myself though a deep frown edged my face. I couldn’t recall the last time I had lost control in such manner. I stared contemplatively at my hand. Oh dear...I had been a moment away from breaching my impeccable aesthetics. 

      Frowning, I stepped out of the shadows, reverted to the prim and proper butler. “Young mistress, I— ''

     “Just like a beast,” Cielle whispered, eyeing me with revulsion.

     “My apologies, my lady.” I felt my forehead crease. “I suppose I had gotten a touch carried away.”

     “Well, I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else from _your kind_ –should I?” A brackish laugh escaped her. I lowered my lids as the mistress doubled over in laughter and then choked out my name. “Sebas…tian.” 

     Cielle’s body went rigid as an ice sculpture, save for a trembling hand outstretched towards me. Her breath grew labored. Then, an uncomfortable wheeze escaped her. In the blink of an eye, I was by her side as she succumbed to her asthma. My hand curled around her small waist. With the other, I angled her face to mine and loosened the eye-patch.

     My eyes reflected in her large, dilated pupils. Concerned orbs of fuschia, but deep within them, the slits flickered with excitement.

 _"S-sebas…tian.”_ Cielle clutched my cuff links and panted my name like litany. I reveled in those pitiable, sputtering gasps, a rich, cadence that aroused my senses. _“Sebas…tian.”_

     I rubbed my finger along her flushed lips and whispered, “Young mistress, _I am here_ …You only need but to call my name.” 

     “Sebastian…” Cielle’s contracted eye illuminated and bore into mine. I felt the mark on my naked hand, surging hot and stronger than ever. Slowly, the coughing fit subsided into soft, shallow breaths. When her breathing slowed at last, Cielle managed to stand upright.

     “Are you quite alright, young mistress?” I held out my hand for support, but Cielle rejected it.

     “I’m fine.” Cielle feigned a cough and avoided my stare. “The weather is atrociously cold.”

 “Indeed.” I removed my overcoat and tightly wrapped her within the much-too-large attire. “Perhaps, this will prevent another episode.”

     “It’s…warm,” Cielle said in strained voice, pulling it tighter.

     “Most fortunate it clads the young mistress’s petite frame completely.”

     “Tch. Just get me my boot.”

     “Yes, my lady.” I retrieved the fallen boot off the ground and bent to her feet. “Shall I?”

     Her eyes narrowed with a cat-like inscrutability, but she nodded. Cielle raised her skirt up, revealing small, creamy white ankles. I slid the boot on, one at a time, cupping the ball of her foot. When my fingers grazed the graceful arch of her foot ever so slightly, she jumped to her feet.

     “I’ll do it myself,” Cielle said in a tart voice. As she fumbled with the laces, a troubled look marred her delicate features.

      Sensing the tension in the air, I collected the cards off the ground near her. “Permit me to commend on that entertaining trick back there. You scented the cards remarkably well –Queens with rosehip, Kings with myrrh, Jacks with lavender, the Jokers with –”

     “Wait a minute.” Cielle’s expression shifted as the realization hit her. She grasped my tie and pulled on it—hard. _“How dare you?”_

     “Beg your pardon?”

     “Don’t _beg-your-pardon_ me, you slippery demon. You witnessed that entire charade without intervening. I take it seeing me in peril provides some sport for you.”

     “Though I cannot deny that . . .” I disengaged her hand, a faint chuckle escaping me. “As the head butler of the Phantomhive, is it wrong to see that the young mistress flourishes into a proper and self-reliant lady of nobility? However…” My voice dropped an octave. I lifted her chin up, my thumb trailing her jaw. “Had you been in  _real_ trouble. I’m sure you're aware I'd intervene. Afterall, I'd never permit anyone to fondle my mistress so crudely . . .”  

     Cielle paused, that troubled look washing over her once more. Then her face hardened. She swatted my hand away. “ _Enough._ We’ve tarried on here far too long. Come.”

     I followed her to where Miss Diaz lay. Cielle gave me a sharp side-long glance. Nodding, I stuffed a hand into my pocket, brought out some strong scented camphor, and waved it under Miss Diaz’s nose. Slowly, the opera singer came into her senses. At the sight of me hovering above her, her face blanched.

      “Fancy seeing you again, Miss Diaz,” Cielle said softly. “Though shouldn’t you be someplace else right now?”

      “Brixton,” the woman breathed as I helped her to her feet. “The Yard threatened to place me in Brixton’s Prison for Female Convicts. They didn’t believe a word I said. I’ve been in hiding since—” She drew in a sharp breath and swayed.

     I caught her before she hit the floor. “Young mistress, perhaps we should resume this discussion elsewhere.” I glanced meaningfully at a small tea shop in the distance.

     Cielle frowned at the opera singer, then sighed. “Very well. Carry her, Sebastian.”

     We made our way to the tea shop. Under the mistress’s instructions, I purchased a cup of Bohea tea, stale Seville Orange Biscuits, and currant teacake (rather poorly prepared) from the High Tea menu. I handed the paltry provisions to Miss Diaz who began devouring the meager bite. Once some of the color returned to her face, Cielle launched into an interrogation.

     “Care to tell us how exactly you escaped, Miss Diaz?”

     The opera singer went stiff, her fingers tightening in her lap. “The Inspector dropped a key after he placed me in the holding facility. I had no other choice, but to steal it. I couldn’t go back home since they would check for me there first…so I’ve been hiding on the streets since. Hiding from the Yard and those…awful, _awful_ men.” She stared, brows pinched, into her tea as if reliving her escape from the whoremongers that loitered in the alleys.

      “Well, your escape is really nothing more than a trifle to me," Cielle murmured. "I’m much more interested as to why you attempted to thieve Her Majesty’s diadem in the first place. “Why don’t you tell us what _really_ occurred last night, Miss Diaz? _”_

     Miss Diaz exhaled a white puff and nodded. “My Grimsy has been away on the Continent the past few months working on _Venus in Furs_. His correspondence with me has dwindled since. Of course, I'm sure he has a rather cumbersome schedule. I figured it'd be best for me to go about my own pursuits and thus, I began taking on more opera performances at the Lyceum Theatre. I had a performance last night—a 7 o’ clock showing of _The Curious Incident of the Dog at Night_. After the play had ended, I headed back home alone. Hardly a few minutes passed when I noticed a figure shadowing me.” Her voice grew quiet. “I hastily picked up my pace and just as I turned the corner, the person called to me— _by my name_. When I spun around, I saw it was only a young man.”

     “What did he look like?” Cielle demanded.

     “A bit of an Adonis. He seemed a few years older than you...but much taller." I smirked at Cielle whose lips went taut as bowstrings. "Rather proper fit fellow, though he possessed effeminate features. He had sea-green eyes, flaxen hair, and an air of self-assuredness about him.” Her brows pinched. “I knew I had never met this gentleman before, and I asked him how he knew me. Apparently, he had he attended one my opera performances and has been an ardent admirer of mine every since.”

     “But then our conversation drifted." A subtle wistfulness tinged her voice. "After Grimsy left, I've had not many to talk to. The more we conversed, the more I realized we shared many interests apart from theatre. He spoke of his terriers at home, and I of my Pekingese dog. We spoke and spoke, losing track of time until Big Ben tolled eight. Since it was rather late, he offered to escort me back home. I accepted the gesture–in retrospect, a bit imprudently.”

     “And then?" I inquired.

     “The young gentleman led me to the front door of my quarters where we both wished each other a goodnight. And then…” Miss Diaz’s voice turned sheepish. “We, er…that is to say, he…”

     The young mistress scrunched up her face, her voice smooth but distasteful. “You need not go on. It isn't difficult to deduce what happened from there, Miss Diaz.”

     I suppose I couldn’t blame Cielle’s frosty demeanor. Afterall, she was hopelessly bereft in _those_ matters. In the few years I had resided with her, I had never seen her glance at any gentlemen. At soirees, Cielle studiously averted all of them like a wallflower, until forced to engage in a waltz—wherein, she wouldn’t even _attempt_ to hide her disinterest from her dance partners. Though hardly my business at all, a part of me mused if perhaps young men simply weren’t her cup of tea.

     Cielle sniffed. “I presume this sporting gentleman—and I use that term loosely, Miss Diaz—atleast gave you his name before he...”

     The woman shook her head and bit her lip, chagrined. “He did. A Mr. Sette Adodici.”

     A half-stifled gasp cracked the wind. My attention pivoted to Cielle. Cerulean eyes flared wide, and I could practically see the cogs in them racing. Miss Diaz gave us both a quizzical look, and seeing the young mistress absorbed in her calculations, I diverted the woman’s attention. “Pardon me, Miss Diaz. I fear we still fail to see how the diadem connects to this.”

      Miss Diaz shuffled her feet under the table. “I don’t quite understand that part either. After Mr. Adocici led me to the main entrance, we spoke a few private words." A tell-tale flush crept to her cheeks. "Then he told me to close my eyes. We shared a few… meaningful exchanges. I had my eyes close till then, but when I opened them, I found myself inside London Tower's Jewel House –the terriers barking around me—all while holding onto the diadem like some phantom thief!”

     I blinked. _Was the woman jesting us?_ “Surely, you have something more to add to your account, Miss Diaz.”

     “That’s just it,” she whispered. “ _I don’t_.”

     Cielle exchanged a dark look with me before turning to the woman. “Miss Diaz, do you mean to tell us you cannot recall anything that happened after seven—ahem, after Mr. Adocici dropped you at your residence and _before_ you found yourself inside Jewel House?”

     “That is exactly so.” Miss Diaz bit her lip. “When I told the Yard my account, they thought I was playing them fool. One of them even laughed in my face!”

     “The Commissioner,” murmured Cielle. “You’ll have to excuse them, Miss Diaz. However, despite the Yard’s usual incompetence, even _I_ must agree with them on the absurdity of your statement.”

     “I know it sounds absolutely ludicrous,” she said exasperatedly, “but I swear, I can’t remember the rest. It’s all a blur to me.”

     “Truly—all of it?” I inquired.

     “Yes, I haven’t any recollection of anything else.” I couldn't detect an inkling of a lie in her statement. I locked eyes with the young mistress and shook my head.

     “I see.” Cielle fell mum and stared at Miss Diaz, impassive and unblinking for an uncomfortable ten seconds. What on earth was she— Suddenly, her frustration unfurled like tempest. Before I could intervene, she grasped Miss Diaz by the shoulders and shook her with a violent start. “For goodness sake, do you hear how unconvincing your story sounds, Miss Diaz? Give me _something_ to work with here. Think harder. It isn’t only for your own blasted sake! My cousin Elizabeth is—”

     My hand tightened over the mistress’s shoulder. Cielle flinched at my touch. “Compose yourself, my lady. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

     Cielle glared daggers at me as though I weren’t the right person to be lecturing on composure. And given what occurred moments ago, well…perhaps I wasn’t. Nonetheless, I turned to the opera singer and spoke in smooth, even tones. “I apologize for my mistress’s outburst, Miss Diaz. Tact and decency have never been part of her virtue. Are you quite sure you recall nothing else at all?”

     A curious shadow swept over the opera singer's radiant face. “Well, perhaps there is…one thing, but I fear it’s only a trifle.”

     Cielle’s voice went sharp. “The art of deduction is founded upon trifles. What did you see?”

     “I recall, very vaguely, a dark shade of…blue.”

 _Blue_? I raised a brow and leveled my gaze at Miss Diaz’s sapphire colored cloak. When she noticed me staring, she blushed.

     “I’m well aware it could’ve been merely my cloak,” said Miss Diaz, “though I fear other than that, there is truly nothing more I can add to my account.” She chewed her lip. “If the Yard finds me out here, they’ll undoubtedly send me to Brixton’s. I can’t go home either –they’ll look for me there first, if they haven't already.” Her eyes grew wider. “And my Pekingese dog is still at home, with no one to—”

     “Miss Diaz, regain yourself. Your dog is _the least_ of your problems.”

     Despite Cielle's bluntness, I quite agreed. Goodness. The woman’s fondness for the canine persuasion was a bit much, wasn’t it? I could never understand the appeal of such ghastly creatures.

     Miss Diaz clasped and unclasped her hands. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

     Cielle pinched her nose-bridge and then with a resigned sigh, reached for the woman’s wrist. “Come here.”

      “Where are we going?” The opera singer’s voice rose in panic as Cielle dragged her into the streets. “You’re…you’re not taking me to the Yard, are you?”

     “ _No._ I have a more suitable place to keep you confined.”

     I trailed the two behind. Cielle scanned the vicinity for a minute until she spied our carriage parked in front of a closed tea shoppe. Our hired coachman sprang out of the curricle when he saw us approaching. “Is everything alright? I had thought—” He paused, noticing Miss Diaz behind us.

     Cielle looked at me and nervously licked her lips. “This here is…er.”

      “Miss Mary Sue Houndsworth,” I said with a smile, deciding to go with the character she played in _The Curious Incident of the Dog at Night_.  “An acquaintance of the young mistress’s that she had the good fortune of recognizing on the streets. Miss Houndsworth will be staying at Phantomhive manor until her own manor’s refurbishments are complete.” I made a silent reminder to procure some wainscoting on the return journey.

     “Right,” murmured Cielle. “Hence, I’d like for you to return her back to the manor this very moment.” 

     “I shall gladly oblige your request, Lady Phantomhive. but what of you and your butler? There is still some distance from here to Imperial Academy.”

     “Please go ahead. Sebastian and I will take some hackney. Now, if you would just step inside Miss Di—Houndsworth.” Cielle opened the compartment door and paused. “I suppose I shall also see to it that your pekingese dog is taken care of.”

     For the first time, Miss Diaz broke out a smile. She threw her arms around the young mistress and hugged her tightly. “Oh, I simply can’t thank you enough. You truly are generous, Lady Phantomhive.”

    "Think nothing of it, Miss Diaz. It would be my pleasure." Cielle caught my eye and donned a devious smirk. Simply marvelous. Now I had a mangy dog to play nursemaid to. 

     Giving the opera singer a pleasant, but forced smile, I took her hand and assisted her into the four-wheeler. Once settled, she waved her hand to the mistress, who awkwardly waved back. With a snap of the reigns, the carriage plodded away through the snow, leaving us alone. I turned to the mistress. “Are you sure housing a potential convict is a prudent decision?”

     “Of course not. It’s a terrible idea. The Yard would be at my neck if they found out, but there’s not much of an alternative.”

     “Surely, you must have strong conviction for Miss Diaz’s innocence if you are offering her your quarters?”

     “In fact, I do.” Her eyes darkened. “If she truly was guilty, I doubt she is foolish enough to accept my offer to stay at the manor knowing that I can easily hand her on a platter to the Yard at any moment. Moreover…” Her voice lowered. “Miss Diaz’s account elucidates several _other points_.”

     “Like the curious Mr. Adocici?” I supplied. “I surmised the gentleman had given Miss Diaz an alias for the name ‘Sette Adocici’, despite sounding Italian, seems too peculiar for an authentic Italian name.”

      “Actually, that name isn’t peculiar at all. In fact, it is a rather common in Italy.” Cielle’s pupils grew darker yet. “‘Sette’ is the Italian word for seven, Sebastian.”

     Without listening to the rest of her deduction, I knew what this signified. I narrowed my vision. “That numerical signature from before…”

     “The very one,” Cielle said darkly. “Sette Adocici can be broken into ‘sette a docici’, which in Italian translates to ‘7 to 12’.”

     I traced a finger along my chin in contemplation. “Then this would imply that the gentleman who escorted Miss Diaz to her residence is connected to the attempted diadem theft _and_ responsible for Lady Elizabeth's disappearance.

     “Not to mention, he's probably the cipher sender,” added Cielle, staring distractedly at my finger.

     “The case grows curioser and curioser.” I prodded the alchemy cipher in my pocket and frowned. I hardly could imagine how _that_ tied in with this. Goodness, what a tangled web this was turning into.

      “Well, don’t just stand there thumb-twiddling. We’re already running behind schedule.” Cielle lifted her chin, shaking the snowflakes out of her hair, and trundled ahead away from the paved roads and towards a secluded area filled with trees and undisturbed snow.

     “Since you sent away the carriage, I presume _I_ am your mode of transportation?”

     An impish smile tugged her lips. “Your presumption is correct.”

     I sighed. _The trials of a butler_.

     We walked side by side, soon coming into a clearing. After double-checking the vicinity and making sure only our presence remained, I turned to my mistress and offered her my gloved hand. “If you would…”

     Cielle gave a stiff nod and laced her bare fingers through my satin-clad ones. The moment she did, I drew her close and slid my arms under her knees. Without giving her a warning, I kicked off on my feet. Cielle gasped, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.

     Snowflakes and gusts of frigid wind buffeted our faces. We passed the ice laden trees at such a speed that the branches blurred. Exhilaration coursed through me. I jumped from branch to branch effortlessly even when the snowflakes began coming down hard, thick and ubitiquous. Though the cold hardly bothered me, from the petite form that shivered against my gloved fingers, I knew the young mistress was putting on a farce. Cielle’s breathing hastened. Her muscles clenched tight under me. I spared her further pretense.

     "Young mistress, forgive my impropriety, but might I suggest you to lean into my overcoat? To provide you with a little extra heat, of course.”

     With palpable reluctance, she buried her face against my chest. Nestled in the thick fabric of my attire, she curled against me childishly, clinging to my warmth. Still, her cheeks possessed a pinkish tint—almost flushed. I frowned. The sooner we arrived at the academy, the better. The last thing I needed was a sniffling mistress to attend to.

     I increased my speed. Cerulean hair blew wildly, the long, silky strands taking on a life of their own and wrapping us in partial darkness. All of a sudden, amidst the flurry of untamed hair and snowflakes, I caught it— _that essence._

     Sweet and tart, delicate and musky—a paradoxical array of flavors that whetted my palate. But these nodes transcended to much more. Cleverness and foolishness. Innocence and prurience. A pleasant shiver stole over me, contrasting against the hot, pulsating force that traveled across my arms and extremities. Repressing a strange carnal urge, I gazed at the young mistress and licked my lips.

_How troublesome._

     While I always found the mistress’s essence pleasing before, it had never roused such strong reactions in me. I might have been starving before, but now I was _ravenous_. The essence of her soul had changed in some way . . . but what?

     Unable to contain my curiosity, I tuned myself to Cielle's emotions. In an instant, they resonated within me. Strong and powerful, as if they were my very own. Her frustration on the case, her unwavering resolve to rescue Lady Elizabeth, and then a trace of self-consciousness I couldn’t quite place. Could it be . . ?

     Subtly, I tightened my fingers under her knees. Color raced to her cheeks, and her emotions soared from her–tenfold now and poured into me like a vessel.  I closed my eyes, avariciously taking them all in. Her deviant impulses, her reprehensible desires, and then a distinct image of . . . My eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed.

     So young men _were_ her cup of tea afterall. No, not young men, I amended.

 _I_ was her cup of tea.

     The few years I had resided with the mistress, dalliance with her had never crossed my mind. Or rather, I had never entertained the thought. I suppose in humans such closeness over the years would inevitably breed feelings of familiarity. But this went much beyond the lines of familiarity. This was almost . . . dissolute.

     The mere idea of consorting with Cielle now was preposterous, utterly improper, and yet . . . tempting on every level.

      So this was why my restraint had slipped earlier. The sweet essence from her childhood had matured to something musky and more potent. Till now, Cielle’s soul had been seasoned by various murky, traumatic experiences. Each had lent a flavor to her soul, however, this new flavor was solely due to . . . me. Small wonder it had incited such a strong reaction. My mouth curved.

     The delicious irony that my young mistress, so cold and unfeeling, could become so _affected._ To think she was even capable of such illicit feelings. Least of all about me. While our contract remained, I wouldn't consume her soul. However, I could easily encourage this foreign musky flavor to grow richer yet. To take her essence to a new height. A ghost of a smile touched my lips.

     Very slowly, my hand migrated a few inches above her knee. A white puff of breath escaped Cielle. “Young mistress, is everything alright?” My voice lilted sticky as a spider web.

      She glanced up from my chest and glared at me, her eyes mingled with desperation and foolish pride.  “I’m fine.”

      "I am glad to hear." I masked a smile. 

      What an interesting game this had turned to.

     I leaned against her and slowed my pace. Her fingers tightened around my neck. “Why . . . are you stopping?” she said in a breathy voice.

      “Because, young mistress,” I whispered against her temple as we alighted onto the snow blanketed grounds of Miss Elizabeth's academy.

     “ _We've arrived.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A preview of the next chapter: Cielle's past demons return, more ciphers are cracked, and a few other characters make an appearance (Lizzie's secret admirer, Joanne, Violet, etc). 
> 
> Meanwhile, Sebastian begins his agenda to further taint Cielle's soul.


	6. Imperial Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this chapter has been longg overdue. To make up for the hiatus, I already finished the next chapter as well. It's quite dense. I hope you like it! Also, a special announcement below ;D

       {Cielle's POV}

     Sebastian eased me to the snow-covered ground. Through the endless swath of snowflakes, I made out diamond paned windows, turrets, and balustrades fashioned in Versailles style. The academy towered before us, tall and white, exuding majestic serenity. The irony of its aesthetics given the ongoings within. 

     "Shall we?" Face like chiseled marble, Sebastian leaned to my side. His eyes bore into mine, the depths nearly glowing from the reflected snow. An unfamiliar sentiment stirred in my belly. Squashing it away, I edged away from him.

     "Let's hurry this up. The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can return to the manor."

     "Indeed. And attend to that little project for Mr. Noble."

     I groaned and trudged through the snowy entryway alongside Sebastian, his suited arm occasionally brushing my shivering one. My breath clouded the frosty air. Blast. He was so insufferably close. I ambled beside him to the entrance, focusing on the crunching sound of snow. Calmly, Sebastian reached for the knocker and brought down the gilded handle. Not even a minute had passed when the door opened with a flourish.

      A slender woman greeted us. Every inch of her spoke of severity. Wearing a monochrome walking dress with long, puffed sleeves and black ribbon at the blouse, she raised her chin. Through her pince-nez, her eyes flitted from me to Sebastian, then me again.  "May I assist you?" she asked in a voice that conveyed precisely the opposite.

     Sebastian bowed his head. "Pray forgive our intrusion. Lady Cielle Phantomhive has come here to oblige Lord Randall Delacourt's request concerning . . . a peculiar matter troubling the academy."  
  
     The impatience in her tone evaporated. "Oh, it's you. Do pardon me." She gave me a taut smile though I sensed the underlying tension behind it. "The headmaster did not inform that the assistance he sought for would be so young . . . or female."

     Before I could quip back, Sebastian took over. He smiled this time, in that particular manner that made so many feminine heads blush. "Not unlike yourself, miss . . .?"

     Crimson stained her cheeks. "Calypso. Calypso Hulda. Former governess and secretary of Imperial Academy." 

     "A beautifully enigmatic name," Sebastian murmured. "Did you know, it means 'she who conceals' in Greek?"

     Nodding, she swallowed and smoothed her hair—a pointless gesture since she had done it in a tight, unrelenting bun. Suppressing an eye-roll, I cleared my throat. The woman collected herself and promptly went back to looking both interested and disinterested at him all at once. "Do come on inside, Lady Phantomhive," she said in more obliging tones. "Dreadfully cold weather, isn't it? Perhaps you two would care for some tea." She gestured us inside a faux-marble foyer. "Allow me to show you the way to the headmaster's quarters."

     We followed behind her heels, taking in the the greco-roman styled furnishings. Impressionism and neoclassicism paintings of young women lined the walls. Grecian statues of similar subjects littered the hallway. When the secretary noticed me staring at a sculpture of nine goddesses, she beamed. "Those are the muses—the goddesses of arts and sciences. They served as my inspiration. The headmaster assigned me the task of furnishing the academy. I take great pride in the design."

     "The space is truly a Palladian masterpiece," remarked Sebastian.

     I had to agree. I rather found the ambiance refreshing in a society so stifling for women. As I past a bust of Venus de Milo and turned the corner, I gaped. The hallway overflowed with young ladies—those unmistakably of an international stamp. Oriental, European, Indian, and other ethnicities I couldn't place. It was as though all the foreign young ladies residing in England had congregated in one place.

     "Not the usual sight, is it?" Miss Hulda mused. "The academy offers the finest of education to host of international students. Some of the young ladies commute; the majority, most of whom have more ethnic roots, reside in dormitories. We are the first academy to offer this, which have young ladies from High Society flocking to us from all over England. Though we do take the occasional Scholarship students as well."

     "That is quite progressive for a school in England," I replied honestly.

     "Yes, our establishment trains young women for a place in society. It is one of a kind. A blossoming rose in a garden of poorly kept flowers. Other institutions would rejoice if scandal befell the school."

     Just then, a group of book-bosomed girls spotted Sebastian and did a giggle-whisper in each other's ears. I lowered my eyes. "I presume the students aren't aware of the recent happenings?" It wasn't a question.  
  
     She gave me a pointed look, brows tensed. "It is not in my place to discuss that. Well, here we are." Relief flooded her face as she stopped in front of a door that contained large, grey letters engraved HEADMASTER. Hulda turned the doorknob and poked her head inside. "Mr. Delacourt, I have—"

     The commissioner jolted up from his seat at the sight of me. "Heavens, about time you came. Well, don't just stand there. Come in, come in."

     I sniffed and entered inside. Furnished with old, leathery tomes, a grand desk covered by a slew papers in French, and a Chinese vase of wilting flowers, the study smelled like antiquity and black tea. I seated myself in front of the man. Lord Randall Delacourt faced me intently behind his desk. Despite his usual hard angles and controlled composure, his craggy eyes betrayed a wild, desperate fervor. 

     "I presume you have read the contents of my letter," he began.

     "I have."

     "Most troubling news. First my daughter and now more." He threw himself against his chair and grunted through a sip of tea. "To account, they have been six disappearances so far."

     "Yes," I murmured. "My cousin, Elizabeth, in the mix."

     The commissioner choked on his tea. "Your . . . cousin?" He racked his little hair and stood up, his composure flying out the door. He paced the room, face convulsed, his clenched hands raving in the air."Bloody hell! What a muck this is turning into. For once, you have my sympathies, Lady Phantomhive. I'm sure you must be overwrought as I am with my Isabelle . . . " He paused, eyeing me through his quizzing-glass. "Though I must say, you contain your distress rather well."

     I pressed my lips tightly and kept my tones clipped. "I see little point in wallowing like a watering pot or rampaging like a blundering fool. Since when has that ever provided a solution to one's dilemma?"

     Delacourt stared at me hard. After some time, he released a long, exasperated sigh and returned to his seat. "Perhaps one could take a page out of your book, Lady Phantomhive."   
  
     I waved a dismissive hand at him. "Might I see a copy of the student records?"  
  
     "Of course." He rummaged through the muddled papers on his desk. "Ah, here it is. Perhaps this will shine light on things."

      I sifted through the documents he handed me. Each page contained the girl's picture, full name, address, family background, and birthday. Substandard information. When I flicked to the photograph of Lizzie's bright, innocuous face, my breath caught. Without being aware of it, I had reached for her gemstone bracelet on my wrist. Commissioner Randall cleared his throat. "Well?"

     I forced myself to turn the page. The cogs in my mind clicked away, trying to glean some connection—any connection—between all the girls. Nothing. Frustration taking over, I thrust the papers in Sebastian's direction and faced the headmaster. "Perhaps a tour of the grounds would prove more fruitful—"

     "Oh, I'm so sorry. I did not mean to interrupt your meeting."  
  
     My head jerked around to the deep, honeyed voice. Winsomely coiffed, an arresting creature of sixteen stared at us. Or rather, me. Exceptionally tall and willowy, the older girl possessed a classic beauty, the type that beautified all those in the room and the drab room itself. With striking sea-green eyes and long, amber curls, she covered a hand to her mouth in ladylike fashion. Yet for all her artless radiance, I could tell she relied heavily on enhancers for the effect. A dusting of rice powder on the face, Spanish papers on the cheeks, and a carmine stain on her smiling lips. 

     "I was not aware you had visitors," she said demurely. 

     "You've arrived in good time, Miss Greyling." Delacourt faced me. "Allow me to introduce you to the headgirl of the academy. She delivers the weekly memos to the faculty and oversees the other students."  
  
     "Jane Greyling." The young lady curtsied and extended her hand to me. I met it. "And you are?"

     "Cielle Phantomhive."

     "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Phantomhive." A gracious smile edged her lips. Her fingers, much longer and larger than mine, held my hand for a few seconds longer than necessary, when her other arm accidentally brushed a vase of snapdragons and foxgloves beside her. It began to spin in place, then toppled.  
  
      _"Oh!"_

     I watched in disbelief as Sebastian watched on with indifference, only attempting to salvage the situation when he knew it was already too late. The vase shattered to the ground, spilling water all over the head girl's sleeves. She stifled a yelp.  
  
     "Miss Hulda!" the headmaster sniped.

     "Coming, sir." Kneeling, the secretary hurried to clean the area. She handed Jane a handkerchief.  
  
     "A thousand apologies. I should have acted sooner." Sebastian gave a stoic bow. "Please, at the very least, allow me to assist you." I glared at him retrieving the snapdragons and foxgloves from the mess. When was Sebastian, the paragon of elegance and grace and infuriating perfection, ever out of step like this? If I didn't know any better, I'd say he'd allowed the blasted thing to happen on purpose. 

     The head girl hastily rolled up her wet sleeves and dabbed her arms. "I think I shall excuse myself if you don't mind. Change into something more . . . dry." Giving us a slight curtsy and not making eye-contact with Sebastian, she pivoted on her heels. A strange disquietude marked the butler's face.  
  
      Watching her retreating figure, I shifted my attention back to the headmaster. "You have informed the students aware of the recent happenings?"

     "Well, er, not quite . . . But all the faculty and headgirls are aware. In fact, Jane has agreed to discretely watch over the other students under my request."

     "How considerate of you," I murmured. "And yet, you fail to inform Scotland Yard for fear of enrollment numbers."

     The headmaster grumbled. "Scotland Yard has not been doing too well as of late. If word of these disappearances were to get out, the academy would close and—"

     "And your finances would plummet?"

     "Lady Phantomhive," Delacourt said coldly, "My personal matters are none of your concern. Perhaps I can humour you with a tour of the academy instead?"

     "That'll do."

     "Miss Hulda, please see to it."

     "Of course." The secretary gestured to us. Before I stood from my seat, Delacourt interjected, "Lady Phantomhive, for everyone's sake I do hope I made the right decision in calling you."

     "My track record speaks for itself. Also . . ." I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a fine, gold plated watch set an hour forwards. "Do you plan everything in advance?"

      "Where did you get that?" he said sharply.  
        
      "I should think that hardly matters." I tossed the trinket onto his desk and rose from my seat. "I am sure this would provide a little help to said finances." With that, I turned my back on his bruised face and flitted out the door.

      "Was that quite necessary, my lady?" Sebastian murmured. I didn't reply.

     The secretary beckoned us to follow through a maze of corridors. We past by a sea of whispering faces, most of them focused on Sebastian. Hushed voices in foreign tongues settled around us. A sharp pang twisted my insides. An emotion I didn't care to name. I suppose seeing a uniformed gent, well-proportioned and proper fit, would have an over-warm reception at an all-girls school.  _Well-proportioned?_  I mentally slapped myself. 

     Irate, I snuck a glance at the butler. His lids were low, and though he didn't even look at me, I discerned that familiar smirk begging to grace those ever parted lips. An aureole of light from a gas-lamp flickered across his fuchsia eyes, making them look luminous . . . as if lit with with some renegade thought. His lips parted. His long tongue lapped his sharp canine. My heart beat faster. A odd tingle raced through me. I was reliving my nightmare. When we past the gas-lamp, I blinked. Sebastian's eyes were the usual muted vermillion. He looked . . . normal. Every inch the proper butler. This time, Sebastian was looking straight at me. Face marred in concern, the butler tilted his head. "Is something amiss, young mistress?"   
  
       Confound it. "No . . . it's nothing."

     "This here is the music room." Hulda gestured us inside a palatial space. The hall was filled with violins, cellos, harps, and a grand Steinway piano in the centre. "This is the largest room in the academy. Hence, we will be holding the masquerade ball here in a few days. You'll find the acoustics here work rather well."  
  
     "I can see that." The clicks of my heels reverberated through the auditorium. I inspected the floorboards with each step. Sebastian lifted the hood of the piano and peered inside. After several minutes, we still found nothing. I moved along to the large windows while Sebastian inspected the large mechanical clock in the corner.

     Ennui taking over, my gaze drifted to the snow covered balustrades and garden outside. In all the whiteness, my eyes flicked to a moving dark spot on the roof. Long, dark hair blowing from her hooded cloak, a girl precariously ambled along the roof like a tightrope performer. I rubbed my eye and stared in incredulity. Hands straight apart for balance, she walked through a gusty wind, her cloak billowing around her. Her every movement, no matter how slight, came off stiff—controlled. Just like a marionette to a puppeteer. 

     "Lady Phantomhive, is everything all right?"

     I spun around, my voice sharp. "Do you see that black speck?"

 _"Where?_ " 

     "On the rooftop—" I paused. A sense of unease crept over me like rising fog.  _There was no girl._

     Miss Hulda regarded me warily through her pince-nez. "Maybe a bird was all?"

     "Perhaps you're right . . . An addled mind can do as much." A bird my foot. Granted, it made little sense, but I clearly had saw a girl—hadn't I?

     As I mulled over what I had just seen, the secretary's expression changed before me. First from pity, as though she thought I regularly suffered from hallucinations, to cool disdain, like I had contrived the whole thing to compensate for my lack of clues. I groaned, glancing at a large marble grandfather clock Sebastian eyed. With silver paint and intricate design work, both its hands pointed to twelve.

     "Goodness, half an hour passed by so quickly." The butler retrieved his pocket watch. "Or so one would think."

     "Don't pay mind to that." Hulda tapped the floorboard in loud, impatient clicks. "That clock always reads as noon. It's broken but kept more as a showpiece now." Seeing how fruitful my results were here, the secretary didn't mince another word. She whisked us out of the space and through a set of mullioned doors that led into an English garden. Keeping a measurable distance between her, I slowed my pace.

     "Back there," I whispered, tugging Sebastian's sleeve. "I wasn't going insane, right?"

     "I do not believe so, young mistress," he murmured. "However, I regret to tell you I could not sense any unusual presence outside." He paused. "Compared to the inside."                  

     "Inside?" I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"  
  
      "The broken clock I had been examining. Though it looked ordinary enough during my inspection, it possessed a subtle, yet distinct energy. It is difficult to say more, however, with the essences of these many academy students clouding my perception."

       "So you're saying there's a chance whatever you're sensing might be insignificant?"

       "...Possibly." Tch.

      "This is the atrium," interrupted Hulda. "The centre of the academy." I took in the glittering snow covered flora and rustling trees outside the greenhouse. Holding my cloak tighter around me, I passed a line of topiaries when—My eyes flared wide. Brief as the flicker of candlelight, a phantom-like Spector, lanky and vaguely masculine, hovered against the glass of the furthest window. I blinked, and the shadow in the hothouse vanished. No, there was no mistaking it this time.

     Sebastian dragged his gaze away from the greenhouse and to me. His eyes darkened with a hint of warning. He had seen it too. I licked my lips. Someone had been watching us.

     "Miss Hulda," Sebastian began in casual tones, "perhaps you will be so kind as to show us inside the hothouse."  
  
      "The hothouse?" I could read the confusion in her face, but to her credit, she did not press on. She sauntered ahead and opened the green tinted door for us. I flitted in first. My eyes narrowed at the recently watered hothouse flowers. A half-opened window at the back end. And then a petite girl emerging behind a topiary next to me. Seeing us, she stifled a gasp.  
  
     Sporting an emerald dress of trimmed serge and ribbons in her ebony hair, the girl placed her hands behind her. Her fingers fiddled with an almost petal-less flower. I surmised she had been preoccupying herself with a charade of loves-me-loves-me-not. Casting a quick glance over her small stature, I knew she couldn't have been the mysterious Spector.  
  
     "We have company, Miss Sullivan. This here is Lady Cielle Phantomhive and her butler." Hulda paused. "They are, er on tour."

      "Phantomhive," the girl repeated in a thick German accent. Her eyes fastened on my hair, my face, and my patched eye. Her face brightened. "Oh! You must be Lizzie's cousin. She speaks a lot about you."  
  
     "You are friends with my cousin?" I inquired.  
  
     The girl flushed at her small heels. "Not friends exactly. An acquaintance," she said in a small voice. "We only spoke twice, that is when she came here to collect flowers. But I often see Lizzie in the halls—hard not to notice a girl like her—though I've always been a bit of a  _trottel_ to say much to her."

     "I see. Did—does she frequently visit the hothouse?" 

     "Lizzie only comes in when we have blue flowers. She must really like the color." Sullivan smiled at her feet. "I expect she'll make another trip soon once she sees the latest addition. Would you like to see?" She beckoned me forwards and swept aside some shrubbery to reveal a flowerbed. She clasped her hands. "Isn't it such a unique shade of blue?"  
  
     Like a snap of a reigns, I quelled a gasp.   
  
     "Are you quite certain you're fine?" Miss Hulda flicked her eyes to me and squinted.  
  
     "A seasonal cough is all." I fixated on the flowerbed. Dozens upon dozens of Dentelaire du Cap. I reached into my pockets and pulled out a dried petal I had pocketed from the Jewel House break in. It was a perfect match. They both came from the same variety.  _Bleu Ciel._

     "Such a lovely scent." Sebastian stroked a petal in between two gloved fingers. He inhaled the flower deeply, his eyes fastened on me. An unbidden shiver ran through me. "If you don't mind, Miss Sullivan, perhaps you could tell me where I could procure this rare variety?"  
  
     Sullivan frowned. "I'm afraid I do not know. I found them just sprouting one day and have been tending to them ever since as keeper of the hothouse." Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her.

     "Will that be all then?" Hulda tapped her foot and regarded me like I was an insect. Bother, the woman couldn't even maintain a facade of civility.

     I raised my chin, unfazed. "Perhaps we can speed up this tour by heading to the actual scene of the disappearances?" 

     "Of course," she said curtly. She led us to the dormitories in the North West quadrant of the academy. We climbed a marble staircase that floated upwards in an elegant spiral and found ourselves into a hallway of rooms. Gaslight sconces lined the path, bathing the damask wallpaper in a soft glow. We arrived to the missing twin's room. The door creaked, and we followed in its wake, silent as shadows. The bobbin had remained undisturbed near the doorframe. Glass pieces were scattered underneath piles of clothes and books. The scene looked every bit as the Commissioner had described. Staged.

     "I hope you'll excuse me momentarily. I have a brief errand to run," said Hulda. "You may investigate as you please." She gave me a withering stare paired with a forced smile.

     "I think we can manage without your assistance, Miss Hulda. You've already done so much." I flashed her a poised smile of my own. The woman's ears turned crimson. She pivoted on her heels Once she left, I spun around to Sebastian, my voice low. "Search every nook and cranny. I  _know_  the culprit didn't make a clean job of it."

     Sebastian searched. And searched and searched. Under the four-posters, inside Arwen and Astoria's armoires, inside pillow covers. I moved to the ground, carefully retrieving various artifacts from the glass littered floor when my fingers brushed gloves ones. My head jerked up. Vermillion eyes pinned mine. Warm fingers lingered against my cold ones. It was a mere whisper of a touch, and despite myself, I found myself breathing harder than normal. Like a reflex, I snatched my hand away.  
  
     "My skittish young mistress," Sebastian whispered as he retracted his own hand.

      "Check the dust-bin," I said, struggling to gain mastery of my voice. 

     "Very well." On bended knee, Sebastian rummaged through the contents, tilting it to a side. I vaguely made out some scraps of fabric, parchment with neat, practised lettering, and a small rectangular card. No, an envelope. Sebastian pulled it out. His expression grew dark.    
  
     I glimpsed at the address on the envelope. " _Twelfth Notthingham Street._  Does that address even exist? And no sender name either. "What—"  
  
     Sebastian flipped the letter to the other side. I froze at the black sealing wax. _That symbol._  A nauseating sense of panic seized me in its grip. My entire body began to shake violently. The room around me skewed. It was as if someone had pulled a rug under my feet.    
  
     "T-that imprint on the seal," I said, staggering into something solid.  
  
     "Depicts a staff entwined with two snakes." Sebastian's brows slanted into two hard lines. "It appears to match . . . the same brand mark on you, young mistress."  
  
     "It can't be," I breathed. The haunting memories poured in against my will. I clutched my cloak, succumbing to my past demons. A ring of hooded figures surrounded me; terrifying white faces and masked eyes laughing at me. Their verminous hands gripped me, ravaging me. A silent scream froze in my throat.  _No. Please. L-leave me alone. Don't touch me . . ._  In my struggle, I managed to look up. An unmoving figure, pale as birch with cerulean locks, lay sprawled on the altar . . . The figure's hair began to change colors, the cerulean tresses turning into blonde ringlets. I felt sick.  
  
     "Lizzie!" I screamed.

     Head thrown back in menacing laughter, a cloaked figure hovered above her. Over and over, I screamed Lizzie's name, my litany blending into the cackles. Then came a voice which drowned all else.  _Young mistress._ Beyond my outstretched hand, Lizzie's outline blurred, only to be replaced with sharp vermillion eyes.

      "It's them. T-they're behind this." Unable to choke out the word, I groped at the air, panting. "They t-took her—" 

     "Shsh." Sebastian reached for the gemstone bracelet on my hand. "Such a dainty, delicate trinket, but fashioned of a strong materials most humans would find difficult to crush." Gloved fingers slipped under Lizzie's wristlet, sliding against me. "Just like her, young mistress." His gave the wristlet a slow, forceful tug. Stinging, the pressure made my skin flushed.   
  
     "S-Sebastian," I breathed.  _"Sebastian."_  
  
     "You are exerting yourself too hard." He raised my face to his, gently cupping the sides of my chin with a single hand. "You have nothing to fear as long as I am right beside you, young mistress. Now breathe slowly. Hold it in and release." His breath tickled my earlobe. "In and release. In and release . . ." 

     Lips, fingers, legs aquiver, I leaned against him, borrowing his strength. I rode the rise and fall of his chest. Following the lilt in his rhythmic voice, I inhaled and exhaled. In and out. In and out. In and . . . An strangle prickle raced over my skin. Sebastian's fingers circled my wrist. The gloved tips had slipped into my own glove, intimately touching my bare digits. My body still shook but this time, from something other than fear.

     A frisson of heat replaced the cold. His touch felt hot. Scorching. Akin to the intensity he was staring at me with. His body tilted towards mine. He was close, closer than he needed to be. Moistening my lips, I pressed my legs together. Dark, silky locks curtained his face, framing his languid and burning eyes. Eyes that constricted and swept over me like a morsel he longed to have a taste of. Serpentine lips parted. I had seen that look before. In nightmares. In unspeakable dreams. 

      Breathless and disgusted, I spurned him away. 

     The focus in his eyes shifted. He frowned into his gloved hand, brows tensed.

     "G-give it to me," I said shakily.

     "As you wish." Preserving the seal, Sebastian deftly ripped into the envelope. An enclosed letter waited for me. Gathering my wits, I snatched it up.

     After scanning the contents, I swore. "What in blazes . . . Look at this-this gibberish!"" 

 

 

 _Air the radical novel house the evidence?_ **R** _ealize lady of they Pick such they sure. The advocate you jams pick the mythological power a from_

 _Lies telescope amazes a hell_ _contained my education._ **R** _ogue dozen as_ _hearts by garret._ _Have_   _will a gay melody flooded Calculus flowers your_

 _Chemistry seven_ _From outside until dozen famine! Its smoked ingredient by circus_   _preceding satin. When will theatre pretty_ _flowers friend_

 _Hat the by leisure. An orthodox ladybird curls the tongue.The lonely by debugger the nine_   _tools an opera. Friends on a break lovers seven_

 _Enigma moon tarot_   _the ship creepeth. An award northward the ten_ _locked room. Else the bow full sweets despairs beside the shoppe eight_

 _Map winter the resident advances eleven t_ _he celestial light divide from him she'd sixth violets. They're lights, gathered. Appear dress nine_

 _Yin twelve_ _air Spirit creature the our likeness face also it the signs horoscope prolific merry angelic balsams_   _contained laud advise space ten_

 _blank education mesmerism Greek vulgar as will_ _hearts by garret._ **R** _enaissance determination to be no forfeited he._   _Contrasted face eleven_

_space Depraved child cloaked light darkness neglected but supported hothouse doom midnight stars tick tock Halves of whole twelve_

 

     A gloved finger along his lip, Sebastian hardened his gaze. "The missive looks a mere touch of grotesque wit or perhaps . . ."

     "Another bleeding cipher," I groaned. 

     The door burst open. Sebastian and I jerked around. The secretary stood at the entryway, shaking all over and pale as a ghost. 

      "Miss Phantomhive," she whispered. "It's happened  _again ._  . . "

     

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly. I realized I haven't updated since last JULY (like whattt O_o). I can't believe a whole year flew by so quickly. I apologize for not updating this fic in like foreverr, but I have an actual excuse for being MIA.
> 
> Soo . . . few of you already know, but for those who don't, well, I've been working on a pet project this year on the DL. I don't want to give too much away, but I'll say this: it's a BOOK. Specifically—a fangirl themed novella. It's quite different from anything I've ever written before. There's a slew of fandom references in it. From HP to YOI to . . . Kuroshitsuji (how could I not?) and many, many more. Essentially, it's the book I wanted to read, but couldn't find. Actually, I think it's a book a lot of fellow fangirls would like to read.
> 
> As a reader, the lack of books for fandomers has often frustrated me (which honestly isn't a big surprise given that fangirls and fanboys tend to be neglected as readers). That's partially why my co-writer and I worked on this project together the past year. To have one more book out there that celebrates fangirling, fanfiction, and fandoms in all their glory.
> 
> Well, that's all I can give away from now. ^^ The novella has gone through rounds of beta-reading and now at the editor's. Maybe I'll do a sneak preview of the cover art or inside manga illustrations later on. Stay tuned, and as always—thank you for reading along. 
> 
> <3
> 
> P.S. Kudos to anyone who figured out the cipher/message in the cult's letter. Sebastian and Cielle decode it in the next ch.


	7. Hourglass

  

     The door burst open. I jerked around. Pale as a ghost, the secretary stood at the entryway. "It's happened again," she whispered.

     Narrowing his vision, Sebastian stuffed the letter into his overcoat. Miss Hulda whisked us into hallway. Following the sound of muffled sobs coming from the far end, we poured into one of the dormitories. I rushed inside with such haste that my feet caught on the fringes of a Persian rug. I gasped in a sharp breath. Sebastian steadied me by the waist, the full of his hand, warm and strong, spreading over my belly. In the blink of an eye, he withdrew his arm, leaving me with both feet planted firmly on the ground though my insides teetered erratically. I calmed my quickening pulse.   
  
     My gaze darted across the shared space. Two desks, one containing a nosegay of violets and the other, of white gardenias, faced a large window. Following the yin-yang color scheme of the rest of the room, two beds lay at opposite ends. One with rumpled sheets and pillows of dark Chantilly lace, while the other, a nary a wrinkle in sight in the pastel linens. A watercolor of Sapphos embracing her fellow poet Errina bridged the space between the four-posters. The art vaguely mirrored the two other girls in the room. Hunched over in a damask settee, a girl attired in soft peach muslin, covered her face with both hands. She looked delicate, as if a gust of wind would blow her away. The headgirl draped an arm around the frail girl. Face drained of colour, Jane Greyling held the other girl's trembling shoulder and offered words of reassurance despite her own visibly shaken state. Jane glanced up. "Miss Phantomhive . . ?"

     "Please tell us what just happened, Miss Greyling."  
  
     "Ah, I fear Joanna—that is, Miss Harcourt has become fraught that her roommate, Miss Violet, has not returned to their dormitory since this morning. After searching the school grounds, she believes she has reason to worry after finding an, er, unfinished piece of writing on Violet's desk." Jane gestured to a mahogany desk facing a half-opened window. "It seems Violet was in midst of translating a poem from Ovid's Metamorphoses when . . . well, best to look for yourself."  I took a gander.

_Iphis to Ianthe:_

  
_Equal the flame, but unequal their flare;_  
_One filled with hope, one filled with despair._  
_The mind of Iphis suffers a greater grief;_  
_Her flame fiercely burns, with no relief._  
_Her despair adds fuel to the fire;_  
_Another maiden, the girl's desire._  
_A strange love simmers within,_  
_Should she extinguish the feelings therein,_  
_Thus love-sick Iphis in her passion mourns;_  
_With equal fervour fair Ianthe burns._

 _Tears followed words while Iphis spoke,_  
_But Juno listened, and her altar shook:_  
_The strength of Iphis suddenly grew,_  
_And her long, curling tresses withdrew._  
_Her doe eyes narrowed and shone,_  
_Deep was her voice, bold was her tone._  
_The reveal of latent parts soon began_  
_It lengthened and burnished into man._  
_The fair Goddesses from above_  
_Descended to bless their happy love;_  
_The Gods of marriage showered their aid;_  
_And Iphis enjoyed his lovely maid_ **_b_ l  _u_ e**

     "They say handwriting can reveal one's true nature," Sebastian mused as he inspected the writing. Long, florid curves and loops came with every stroke, but the words jerked up, then down, then up again, each line resembling tumultuous waves. "Though I must say your friend has a rather . . . interesting fashion of writing. Does Miss Violet write like this often?"

     "Always." Joanna gave a small, sheepish nod. "Violet was never one to write very straight."

     "I see," I murmured. "Despite the eccentricity in the handwriting, the last word written is rather jarring." I pointed to the word 'blue', which contrasted starkly from the rest of the poem. Rendered in heavy strokes, it had a knife-sharp quality, which suggested the last word was written in duress. "Is this your friend's handwriting as well?"  
  
      The flaxen haired girl rubbed her eyes and squinted. "Yes, it is. Though it looks like she wrote it in a hurry, doesn't it?" She bit down on her delicate, pale lips. "It's strange. It feels like Violet wrote it but also didn't write it. Gracious, that sounds silly."  
  
     "What a queer thing to write." The secretary adjusted her pince-nez. "Then again, the girl possesses some rather . . . queer habits."

     A pained expression washed over Joanna. Her head sank to her chest. Jane patted her back, her deep contralto voice turning soft. "There, there, Joanna. Even you must admit that the last word _is_ written rather queerly. Even for Violet's standards." The girl rose and strode towards me. Her skirts brushed against my leg. She fixed me a gaze, and I retreated a step back. "Why, look at the force Violet used. Her quill indented through the next two pages! She must've been in quite a state of mind." Jane glanced in my direction again. "Don't you think so, Miss Phantomhive?"

     I didn't reply. I couldn't divulge my suspicion in front of everyone like this. _Could the cloaked girl on the roof have been Violet?_ Though only a conjecture, I had more solid theories. The bleu ciel flowers, the word blue. Undoubtedly, the culprit was trying to get under my skin. But on the off chance, the color blue meant something else . . . My eyes flared wide. 

_I recall, very vaguely, a dark shade of blue._

     Sharp as a blade, Irene Diaz's words cut through my speculations. That night she had been caught thieving from the Queen's Jewel House . . . Despite her queer, amnesiac bout, she had remembered that minutia of a detail—the color blue. Was there a connection between that and the disappearances? Noticing Jane was awaiting my answer, I diverted her question.  "I'm not sure if that is enough evidence to assume ill fortune befell Violet. For all you know, she may have been taken by a sudden fancy and decided to resume her writing lat—"

 _"No!"_  Everyone in the room stared at Joanna's outburst. She flashed me a look that was anything but timid. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, shining like the sun amidst a rainstorm. "I know Violet better than anyone here," she whispered. "She would never leave  _that_  behind."

     Brows knitting, Sebastian frowned. "Leave what behind, exactly?"  
  
     "That . _. ._ " Voice aquiver, she pointed to a silver ring beside a tiny vase of violets. "She never takes it off, unless she's writing. She would never abandon it on her desk like that."

     "A special momento for Violet, is it?" Sebastian's gaze drifted to a matching silver ring lying on the crumpled sheets. Joanna flushed.

     "I think it'd be best to leave Miss Harcourt alone." Hulda face's finally softened at the flaxen haired girl. "You've been through much in one morning. I'm sure Violet will turn up, dear. In the meantime, Jane, will you keep her company?" 

     The headgirl nodded solemnly. "You need not even ask, Miss Hulda." She reached into her long skirts and withdrew a pack of playing cards. "Games often stave off gloom. Care to have a match with me, Joanna?" The other girl hiccuped a tear away and nodded.

     "Good," Hulda remarked. "Now then, Allow me to escort you both out. I doubt there is much else to be gained here." The secretary's voice had grown considerably cooler. I could tell she thought of me as some foolish girl playing detective. 

       Before I spun on my haunches, Jane caught my hand. A card drifted to the ground. Her thick, sooty lashes fanned out as she peered down at me from her tall height. "I do hope we'll meet again, Miss Phantomhive." 

      "...likewise," I said, feeling somewhat self-conscious from her touch.

     At my discomfiture, I caught Sebastian's low-lidded stare. He studied me slowly before his gaze drifted to Jane. The little gesture did not go unnoticed by the headgirl. Color rising to my cheeks, I retracting my hand from hers and mumbled an adieu to Jane. I swept out of the dormitory, the shuffling of cards soon coming behind me. We made our way back to the headmaster's office. I had barely crossed the threshold of the study, when Delacourt pressed me for what I had discovered. Not wanting to divulge the cult's reemergence, I reported I had found nothing of significance to his case.

     His mustache bristled. "I bet if this was a case for the Queen, you'd put some effort into it!"

     "Need I remind you my cousin is missing."

     "Oh, I'm aware of that. In fact, I'm beginning to believe you really are that heartless."  
  
     "What are you saying?" I said coldly.

     "Seems like you don't give a damn even for your own fam—"

     "Lord Randall," said Sebastian, raising a hand, "pray do compose yourself." Delacourt's face deflated. "I assure you the young mistress cares a great deal for Miss Elizabeth's return." 

     "Very much so," I mumbled. "Else I wouldn't have bothered wasting my time here."

     The older man grunted. "Apologies for my outburst. I fear I have become rather addled with my daughter's disappearance." He looked up at me, with something imploring in his stare. The expression suited him. "Perhaps . . . you could investigate the grounds more thoroughly as a student? That is if you wish to. "I can understand if you prefer to leave matters to someone else. It may be hard to distance sentiment when investigating when one has a personal stake, especially when that someone is of the fairer sex." The glock drew his brows together. "Believe it or not, Lady Phantomhive, I am a gentleman. Guard dog or not, to involve someone of  _your kind_  in these sorts of matters is the last thing I wish. "   
  
      Jaw clenched, I smiled at the patronizing fool. "From my experience, I find the fairer sex can often assist in detective work in ways her masculine counterparts cannot." As if recalling the Scotland Yard fiasco from the other night, he looked away in chagrin. 

     "Let me speak plainly, Lady Phantomhive," he said at last. "I am at my wits. Your cooperation in this matter is paramount."  
  
     "That much is evident." I heaved a sigh. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. What's my time table?"  
  
     Relief flooded his face. "You shall receive your schedule and dormitory arrangements shortly."  
  
     Clearly enjoying my reluctance to attend an all-girls school, Sebastian smiled at me. A trace of amusement flickered in his eyes. "When will the young mistress begin her classes?"  
  
     A sliver of light flashed against Delacourt's spectacles. "She has already begun them."

     The headmaster drew up a schedule of morning and evening classes—Music, Etiquette, Literature—with my occasional input of classes I preferred—Astronomy and Latin, unusual offerings for an all-girls academy in England. Miss Hulda briefly stepped out of the study and returned later with a list of assignments that were due tomorrow. I eyed the pile she handed Sebastian.  _Wonderful,_ I grumbled inwardly. Not only did I have a heap of missing girls to find but now I had the droll task of analyzing  _Carmilla_  on my plate.

     After requesting Delacourt for a copy of the students records and exchanging a few curt words concerning dormitory arrangements—I would move into a single dormitory tomorrow morning—Sebastian and I left the academy. Once outside, I grasped the arm of his sturdy black coat. "The letter in the dust-bin. Maybe we can make sense of it now."

     "Indeed." Sebastian retracted the missive from his pocket. We stared at silently for several moments until the butler gave a hum. "The idiosyncrasies of a man’s typewriter can offer profound insight."  
     

     "Do you mean the R's? They are lined rather straight compared to the other letters—" Realization struck me like a wave. "Sebastian, the other missive and this . . . " The butler curved his lips. "They've been written on the same bloody typewriter."

      "It would appear so, young mistress."

      I swore under my breath and re-read the letter for the umpteenth time.

 

 _Air the radical novel house the evidence?_ R _ealize lady of they Pick such they sure. The advocate you jams pick the mythological power a from_

 _Lie telescope amazes a hell_ _contained my education._ R _ogue dozen as_ _hearts by garret._ _Have_   _will a gay melody flooded Calculus flowers your_

 _Chemistry seven_ _From outside until dozen famine! Its smoked ingredient by circus_   _preceding satin. When will theatre pretty_ _flowers friend_

 _Hat the by leisure. An orthodox ladybird curls the tongue.The lonely by debugger the nine_ _tools an opera. Friends on a break lovers seven_

 _Enigma moon tarot_   _the ship creepeth. An award northward the ten_ _locked room. Else the bow full sweets despairs beside the shoppe eight_

 _Map winter the resident advances eleven t_ _he celestial light divide from him she'd sixth violets. They're lights, gathered. Appear dress nine_

 _Yin twelve_ _air Spirit creature the our likeness face also it the signs horoscope prolific merry angelic balsams_   _contained laud advise space ten_

 _blank education mesmerism Greek vulgar as will_ _hearts by garret._ R _enaissance determination to be no forfeited he._ _Contrasted face eleven_

_space Depraved child cloaked light darkness neglected but supported hothouse doom midnight stars tick tock Halves of whole twelve_

 

       I gave Sebastian a long, side glance.  “Strange, the need to provide a fake address rather than nothing at all. I do not believe that was a mere coincidence. If there was no name, the sender clearly wishes to remain anonymous. Why provide an address at all then? Or better yet, why not do the whole thing properly and provide a fake name to match the fake address? This singularity can only mean one thing.”

     Sebastian lowered his gaze to the address. "That the fake address—Twelfth Street, Nottingham—contains the key to unraveling this message."

     “Twelfth Street, Nottingham,” I said to myself. My eyes darted between the envelope in one hand and the nonsensical letter in the other. “Twelfth Street . . . Twelfth—” My fingers tightened around the envelope.  _Twelve_. Could it be that simple?

     “Sebastian, a quill, quickly.”

     A glint in his eye, Sebastian handed me one. I marked up the letter, pulse hastening with each circle drawn. My chest rose sharply as the cult's message unraveled. "Bollocks!" I gripped the letter, trembling with rage.

     “So every twelfth word forms part of a hidden message.” Sebastian leaned in behind my shoulder and read the words circled in green ink.

_'Pick a dozen flowers by the full moon,_

_Else the violets, the balsams will face doom.'_

     "Undoubtedly, the flowers in the poem refer to the missing girls. Violets seem to refer to the most recent missing girl, while balsams. . ." My voice shook. "Are associated with the name _Lizzie_." I balled up my fist, a turmoil of emotions assaulting my mind. My vision went red. Unbridled rage undulated through me in waves. I refused to have the only wisp of light from my past snubbed out. 

     "We only have until the full moon to save them, Sebastian," I said coldly. "That's twelve days."

     "Yes . . . twelve." Sebastian eyed the envelope on the ground and picked it up. "What a peculiar fixation the sender has for the number twelve."

     “Don’t ask me how some rogue's mind work.”

     Sebastian parted his lips in a bare whisper. “Well, the young mistress would know.”

     I smothered a snort. "Whatever....though I do agree it is a little strange they had chosen Twelfth Street instead of Third, Fourth, or Fifth Nottingham Street as the key."

    "Perhaps the cult centers itself around the number twelve.

    "A  _mathematical_ cult?”

     Ignoring my sarcasm, Sebastian tilted his head and hummed. "I had the opportunity of witnessing the formation of Pythagorus's cult in the 6th century. Most fascinating group. Some of Pythagorous's followers had discovered the square root of 2 was irrational, which muddied up other's theories. Instead of accepting the existence of irrational numbers, they were ordered to keep it a secret. Those who dared to reveal this knowledge were killed."

    I gave him a withering look. "Are you serious?"

    "Very, my lady . . ." Sebastian trailed off, his eyes slanting. "Oh my."

     "What is it?" 

     "I fear we made a miscalculation, young mistress. The sender has left their name after all."

     "What the devil are you talking about?"

     "If you will allow me." With a long, sculpted gloved finger, Sebastian slowly trailed the end of each line until his pointer grazed my thumb. "If you take the first letter of these sentences, it spells 'alchemy'. Moreover, if you string the last word in each sentence, it reads—"  
       
     "I can see it," I hissed.

 

 _ **A** ir the radical novel house the evidence? _R _ealize lady of they Pick such they sure. The advocate you jams pick the mythological power a **from**_

 _ **L** ies telescope amazes a hell _ _contained my education._ R _ogue dozen as_ _hearts by garret._ _Have_   _will a gay melody flooded Calculus flowers **your**_

 _ **C** hemistry seven _ _From outside until dozen famine! Its smoked ingredient by circus_   _preceding satin. When will theatre pretty_ _flowers **friend**_

 _ **H** elp the by leisure. An orthodox ladybird curls the tongue.The lonely by debugger the nine _ _tools an opera. Friends on a break lovers **seven**_

 _ **E** nigma moon tarot_  _the ship creepeth. An award northward the ten_ _locked room. Else the bow full sweets despairs beside the shoppe **eight**_

 _ **M** ap winter the resident advances eleven t_ _he celestial light divide from him she'd sixth violets. They're lights, gathered. Appear dress **nine**_

 _ **Y** in twelve_ _gems loch creature the our likeness face also it the signs horoscope prolific merry angelic balsams_   _contained laud advise space **ten**_

 _blank education mesmerism Greek vulgar as will_ _hearts by garret._ R _enaissance determination to be no forfeited he._ _Contrasted face **eleven**_

_space Depraved child cloaked light darkness neglected but supported hothouse doom midnight stars tick tock Halves of whole **twelve**_

 

      Damnation. I ripped the letter and envelope to shreds. And then the shreds into shreds into shreds. How deplorable for a Phantomhive to be toyed like this. Chest heaving, I poured my anger and frustration in every move. Lids low, Sebastian watched on impassively as I did violence to the message.

     Breathing unevenly, I blinked in the icy air through burning eyes. This time, I refused to let my past repeat. I'd retrieve Lizzie by any means necessary.

     I crushed the seal under my heeled foot.

_Any means._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^ I hope you like the book of cipher so far. Kudos to anyone who figured last chapter's one. The ciphers progress from easy to medium to difficult. We're in the middle now. (And yes, there is an explanation as to why all the ciphers). It may be a while until I update the next chapter, but it starts to connect the clues and slowly, untangles the sticky web Cielle is caught in. I really miss writing from Sebastian's perspective, so I think it might be interesting to write from his pov the next chapter. 
> 
> If you liked it (or didn't) drop me a line. I always like reading reviews, positive or critical, as they help with the writing process. And as always, thank you for reading along <3


	8. That Butler, Temptation {Sebastian's POV}

Cielle and I had arrived back to the manor. She had uttered not a single word throughout our return journey. Offering her my hand, I led her through the snow covered entryway.  

"Perhaps a cup of tea will alleviate your mood—"

Cielle gasped as I opened the door. Frowning, I looked away from her and to . . . oh dear. Before us, the entire manor had been decorated with violet. Violet ribbons, violet lambrequins, velvet cushions of the same colour, violet Japanese lanterns that swayed above our heads, and clusters of actual violets.

"What-what is this?" Cielle looked at me for an explanation, though I was searching for one myself. 

"It's the young mistress!"

"Mister S-Sebastian."

The three servants presented themselves, cowering.

"What," I said calmly as I could muster, "is the meaning of this?"

"Ask her," griped Bard.

I looked beyond him. A moment of deju vu took over. Irene Diaz, resplendent in a lavender muslin gown, scuttled downstairs. At the sight of Cielle and I, she clasped her hands. "There you are! I've been busy all day sprucing up the manor. Consider it as a token of my gratitude." She gave the young mistress a deep bow. "Is it to your liking?"

"It is . . . different. But I appreciate the thought." I could hear the strain in her voice as she choked the words out. I couldn't blame her. Though I never held prejudice against the colour, standing under the frilly, purple draperies made me reconsider greatly. Brows pinched, I stared at the violet confetti littering the recently cleaned carpet. This was worse than the incident with Lady Elizabeth.

Miss Diaz seemed not to notice her obtrusion. She jovially pointed upstairs. "I've also done the same for your room, Lady Phantomhive. I hope you'll like it."

"M-my room?" Cielle contorted her face into a pained smile. "You really shouldn't have, Miss Diaz."

Irene's eyes gleamed. "But I must. It is the least I can do for one who has welcomed me into their home under such circumstances. Well, don't just stand there. Do take a look." The woman shooed Cielle upstairs. "Did you know lavender is currently fashionable? I was surprised that you had few attire with that colour, so I've also added some into your armoire."

Cielle stopped. "You . . . went through my personal belongings?"

Irene waved her hands. "Nothing like that at all. It is only us ladies, after all." Suddenly, she leaned close to the young mistress and whispered into her ear, thinking I could not hear. "I had little idea that Lady Phantomhive possessed a secret stash of pretty little things. Judging from the wear of them, I'd say a few are new purchases." She gave Cielle a conspiratorial glance. "I added a violet one to your collection."

The young mistress went scarlet.

I raised a brow. Restocking the armoire only yesterday, I had seen nothing of that sort. Perhaps, I did not know my mistress as well as I thought. I always considered she had a distaste for such articles given her unpleasant reaction to one during an investigation. Though it was no business of mine, I wondered how long she started to conceal these items. And then another thought crept my mind. When a person conceals one thing, they often conceal other things. What else was my mistress hiding?

Catching my ruminating stare, Cielle snapped her head away. Her lips trembled slightly. Goodness, she was a flustered mess.

"Miss Diaz," I said in a calm tone, "Perhaps you'd like a carriage ride for some fresh air. Preparing all of this must have been straining on someone of your delicate sensibilities."

The opera singer nodded. I quickly motioned to the three servants to take care of her. Once they had left, I turned to Cielle. She didn't look at me. There were many things I could have asked in the moment, but I decided to spare her the embarrassment and settled for the safest one. "Tea?" I inquired.

"Please," she murmured.

I gestured to the dining space where I brewed a cup of darjeeling, using leaves from the Autumn flush for a deeper flavor. I decided the mistress needed something stronger today to calm her nerves.

The mistress sat quietly in her Queen-Anne chair, watching my preparations. Her eyes fixated on the steady stream of liquid filling her favourite Royal Doulton cup. I deposited the floral glazed cup into her open hands. "Careful, young mistress. It is rather hot."

"Good," she murmured. "Maybe it'll rid me of the numb coldness inside me." She brought the teacup to her mouth and closed her eyes. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips. "It's . . . nice, Sebastian." Reluctantly, she glanced up.

I fixed her gaze, letting only a shadow of a smile touch my lips. The girl had always been stingy with compliments, especially where I was concerned. Save for obligatory ones reserved for Lady Elizabeth, Cielle rarely gave compliments to anyone—including herself. 

"It greatly pleases me to hear that, young mistress. Perhaps you'd care for a croissant while you await Madame Hopkins's arrival."

Cielle scowled at my reminder. She grabbed the pastry from the plate I set before her and pressed back into her seat until the cushioned seat swallowed her small frame. As the mistress was set to attend Imperial Academy tomorrow, it was my responsibility to see that the transition occurred as smoothly as possible. Books, parchments, and quills were purchased. Winter clothing was packed. The only thing that remained was uniforms. She loathed Madame Hopkin's visits as the woman's temperament often entailed the mistress wearing some unconventional fashion, but on short notice, she was the only seamstress who would deliver the items. 

"I'd rather borrow Elizabeth's old uniforms than be fitted by that woman," she said bitterly.

"An undoubtedly good idea, if only the young mistress was a little taller and fitted her dresses more."

"Tch." Her scowled deepened. She tore the croissant off in mouth size bits, but made no means to eat it.

"Young mistress, please stop playing with your food."

At my comment, Cielle gave a derisive laugh and rose to her full height. "Inform me when Madame Hopkins arrives." Abandoning her unfinished tea and defiled pastry, she descended upstairs to her bedroom. I discerned a slamming of a door that was likely reserved for my ears. I sighed. The girl rarely passed up an opportunity to engage in the satirical banter which had grown commonplace to us both. In fact, I often suspected she enjoyed them. Why, then, was she taking it to heart now, after all these years?  

The door-knocker sounded.

I strode to the entrance and opened the door. An amicable faced man in a common red uniform tipped his hat. "A parcel fer Lady Phantomhive," the postman said in an Irish brogue. He presented me with a package that contained the mistress's name. That handwriting . . . My eyes narrowed. I collected the package, bid the official a good day with a shilling, and closed the door. What ever could it be now? I could have opened it, but recognizing the petite, curlicue handwriting, I thought it prudent that Cielle should open it.

I made my way up the stairway, frowning at the odious purple decor wrapped around the handrails. The sooner this investigation came to a close, the better. Parcel in hand, I strode upstairs. Despite the silence which hung in the air, it did not mask the small, curious sound coming within the young mistress's quarters. I neared closer and glimpsed the door slightly ajar. I raised my hand to rap her door, then paused.

Through the crevice, I saw Cielle, face strained. One hand grasped the bed linens while the other clutched the small of her back. My eyes travelled to the flushed skin that exposed her shoulder blades. Her slender fingers toyed with the strings of a violet corset. Panting, she struggled to lace it single-handedly. I watched her bend over the four poster, trying to better angle herself. She closed her eyes and pursed her trembling lips, murmuring a soundless word under her breath.

"Might the young mistress require assistance?"

Cielle jumped at my voice. "Confound it, announce yourself, Sebastian!"

"My apologies," I said, still behind the door.

Cielle threw on a shawl and sharply addressed me, "Well, don't just stand there." I opened the door and casually strode inside, setting the parcel on the nightstand. Lids low, Cielle crossed her arms over her chest. Despite her forced indifference, I could tell was she anything but. A rosy tint stained her cheeks, and she was trying hard to slow her breathing. 

What a pretty little mess she was.

"I'll have you know," she said, not looking at me, "that I was merely putting this blasted thing on so that the fitting would consume less time. I rather not spend more time in Madame Hopkin's presence if I can help it." She pulled the shawl tighter around her, poorly concealing the strings of the unlaced corset.

My eyes traced the outline of her face. I could read her shame, her frustration, and a secret she was stifling deep within herself. I edged closer to her four poster. "Why not ask for my assistance?" 

"I don't _need_ your assistan—"

A sharp gasp escaped her as my gloved fingers grazed her back. "Let me help you," I said in a lilting voice. I traced a finger along her spine, languidly and purposefully, until I came upon the loose corset strings. My fingers played with them, teasing a reaction out of her. I waited for a protest, a quip, a harsh reprimand. Curiously, none came.

"Bend over, young mistress," I whispered into her ear.

Cielle arched her back as I tugged at the strings. The shawl fell to the floor, soon to be forgotten. Bit by bit, I undid the corset. With a provocative slowness, my deft hands began to re-lace it. I pulled with force, then slowed into a gentle pace. Over and over, I alternated the movements. She shuddered, twisting her hands into the linens.

"Leave yourself in my hands," I murmured against her skin. I gazed at her rising and falling shoulders, the flush that spread over her creamy skin, and her trembling legs. Her lips parted and moved, whispering a soundless name like a litany. Seeing her in such a susceptible position, I could not resist tempting her into her own dissolution. My lips curved. The young mistress was like clay in my hands. I could sculpt her into a beautiful, chaotic masterpiece. I could transcend her soul. I could satiate it.

I gave the corset a sudden, rough tug, and Cielle held back a strangled sound. "My apologies."

Cielle swore at me under her labored breath. My hands lingered over the base of her spine. "Does the young mistress like this?" I whispered over her back.

"What . . . what are you saying?" 

"I think you very well know." A silky timbre coloured my chuckle. "I wonder why the young mistress has a sudden interest in collecting unmentionables. Does she enjoy putting them on?" My breath tickled her earlobe. "Or does she imagine someone else putting them on—like this?"

"Hng . . . don't be revolting," Cielle whispered breathlessly as I pulled on the strings.   
  
I trailed my hand along her corseted abdomen until it rested on her hip. Her breath came faster, a wondrous euphony to my ears. Her essence grew unbearably pronounced. Sweet, musky, and intoxicating, it cloyed my senses into an excruciating height of ecstasy. I shivered. How long had this seed of desire laid dormant in my years of service to Cielle? No matter. I had every intention of cultivating that seed now.

I took in Cielle's vulnerable position. Eyes clamped, back arched to its fullest, hips raised. How easy it would be to revert to the days when I was a wild demon, sampling souls without a contract. I often mused if she thought the contract protected her in some way. Did she not know the one who had given her this power could just as easily break it? The contract were a mere game to me, and like every game, what fun would it be if rules weren't followed?

"S-Sebastian," she said under her breath. I could discern her quickening pulse, the quiver of each exhale, tension mounting. The forbidden emotions within her spilled onto me like an overflowing sea. I greedily drank them, revelling in her release. Deeper and deeper, I sank under the tumultuous, churning waves until I was drowning in her essence. I ran my tongue over my lengthening fangs, my control slipping. Waves of exhilaration rose and crashed within me _._ A pang of feral desire seeped into my veins, teeming to my core. My gloved fingers curled around her middle with force. The sound of ripping fabric filled the air. So consumed in my tempestuous fervor, I hardly noticed my shadow growing larger until it cast its darkness upon Cielle's exposed flesh. _I could have her like this._

"L-let go now, Sebastian!"

I released her, breathing hard. At once, the dark tendrils of my true form retreated.  _It had happened again?_ Regaining my control, I stepped away from her and glanced at the torn corset strings lying on the floor. I took in my slightly shaking gloved hand. The aesthetics I had always prided myself was suddenly pulling apart at the seams.

Cielle spun around, her cerulean tresses whipping me. A sheen of sweat glistened along her forehead. Her dilated eyes flashed me an acrid stare, one filled with revulsion—at me or her own reaction, I could not tell.

"Get out," she whispered. 

I gave her a deep now, using those seconds to salvage the situation. As a I rose, the distraction presented itself at once. "If my mistress desires my absence, I shall comply, of course. I only came to deliver a parcel and thought it fitting you should open it." Her eyes flashed at me, then landed on nightstand. She took in the familiar handwriting on the tiny parcel, and her face went white as a sheet.

"Is that . . . from Lizzie?"

I brought her the parcel to her. "It would appear so."

With shaking fingers, she ripped the wrapping. Inside lay cogwheels and a torn, musty parchment. "What in the devil . . ." She pulled out the silver clock gears and ran her fingers over the cogs. "I suppose things like this shouldn't come as a surprise anymore." Giving in to her frustrations, she hurled the gears to the floor, then snatched the half torn parchment. On it lay zodiac symbols, paragraphs written in allegorical text, and a queer illustration of humans engaging in what appeared to be some hermetic ritual.

Cielle ran her fingers over the torn edge which had a tiny, faint page number. "Clock gears and a page out of a book. Why on earth would Lizzie send me these?" 

"Why indeed . . . " I studied her handwriting on the wrapping Cielle had strewn on the carpet. Every word on the address was written smoothly, deliberately, so unlike the writing by Miss Violet. I lifted a brow. How curious . . . If Lady Elizabeth had indeed written this, her demeanor when writing did not reveal a hint of duress.

Cielle fixated on the torn page before her, devouring every word and symbol with her eyes. 

_Basilius Valentinus_

_VII Clavis - Cibation - After the matter in the vessels dries, wet it until a mild heat emi_

_VIII Clavis- Sublimation - Extraction by distillation. Release attachments and free the soul_

_IX Clavis - Fermentation - Add the precious metal to the elixir until the dark night of the_

_X Clavis -Exaltation- Regain purity of the soul and transmute the substanc_

_XI Clavis - Multiplication - The solar light shall dawn and awaken thee, raising amounts_

_XII Clavis - Projection - Behold the work of transmutation, merging of ego and Self, the prized elix  
_  

"It looks like some bizarre experiment," Cielle muttered to herself. "What the deuce are they up to?"

"I believe the above steps describe . . . alchemy."

 _"Alchemy?_ " Cielle exchanged a dark look with me I picked up the torn wrapping on the floor. "Go on . . ."

"Alchemy was quite popular during the 15th century, young mistress. Practitioners thought it could grant immense power to those who performed it. The alchemical process of transmutation was believed to purify, mature, and perfect the body and soul."

"You seem rather knowledgeable in this pseudoscience," Cielle said sardonically.

"Call it what you may, it has given rise to branches of science practised today. Moreover . . ." My mouth inched upwards. Serving previous contractors who partook in alchemy has supplied me a useful repertoire in the subject."  
  
"Tch." Cielle studied the page again. "Clavis is latin for key. And the page starts with roman numeral _seven_ , all the way to _twelve_." With a click of a tongue, she turned on me. Her voice rang sharp. "Sebastian, I want you to find out the name of this book. Bring me everything you can find—that's an order."

"Very good," I said, picking up the last bit of wrapping besmirching the carpet. "Is that all?"

Cielle paused in thought. "Actually . . . no." A resentful expression marred her dainty features as she stared at the torn violet strings below her feet. Slowly, she returned her gaze on me with indifference. Her face unreadable, she placed her steepled fingers under her chin. 

"I have a matter concerning Miss Diaz I want you to take care of." She kept her tones clipped, business-like as if I were suddenly nothing more than a stranger. "We want to show Irene Diaz the Phantomhive hospitality now that she's staying at the manor, don't we?" 

I frowned. "Of course, but I am not sure I foll—"

 "You'll watch over her dogs," said Cielle, without looking at me. "Since she cannot return home at the moment, you'll be responsible for feeding, walking, and cleaning them everyday until further notice. Does I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly so." Lids low, I glanced through the mistress's window. If this was her ridiculous reprisal at me, then so be it. "I shall start the task as soon as I permit our visitor inside." Just before I closed the door, I flashed Cielle a cheery smile.

"Madame Hopkins has arrived for you."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: It's that time of year again . . . NaNoWriMo. Woot! ^^ I've been working on the finishing touches of my manuscript from last year (hopefully, I'll finish by this month) but when I take breaks from my WIP, I turn to this kuroshitsuji fanfic. It's a labour of love, and I have so many ideas for where this story is going. It's high time I start updating this more regularly. For those of you who have been sticking around, thank you so much. <3 I read every review and take notes on what I can improve. If you have any comments at all, what you'd like to see more of, what you didn't like, etc, feel free to drop me a line. ^^


End file.
